Chelsie Prompts
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: A space for my tumblr Chelsie prompt entries. Will be a smattering of everything, but the first six chapters will be sequential as one story. Rating subject to change.
1. Pride Challenge Ch 1: Silliest Girls

**A/N: The first six chapters of this "fic" are all one story; starting with Ch 7, they are individual prompt answers.**

 **In answer to the following prompt from the Chelsie Pride challenge (thanks, dibdab4!):**

 **"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country. I have suspected it some time, but I am now convinced."**

 _CRASH!_

 _What in heaven's name …?_ Mrs. Hughes rose from her chair and bolted for the butler's pantry.

"Whatever has happened in here?!" she exclaimed as she burst through the door, her brogue thick in her semi-flustered state. The scene that met the housekeeper's eyes knocked all the wind right out of her. "Oh, Mr. Carson!"

There, on the floor, lay the butler. He was conscious and was lying on his side, a gash in his temple thoughtlessly dripping blood onto his black livery. _Thank goodness it's not landing on the white collar_ , she thought inanely. _He'd be furious!_

"I am sorry for the commotion, Mrs. Hughes. It seems I lost my balance for a moment." Mr. Carson made to rise quickly, waving her away with a shake of his hands, and he groaned loudly as he collapsed back onto the floor. "Perhaps not," he said, more to himself than to her.

Mrs. Hughes ignored his wave of protest, approaching him and crouching down next to where he rested on the floor. "Here, let me help you up before the entire downstairs comes to see what happened," she said quietly. The man was nothing if not proud, and she knew without even asking that he'd be horrified to be found in such an unseemly position by anyone but her - even being seen like this by _her_ was going to push him almost to the brink.

She reached over and offered him one hand to hold as she grasped his elbow with her other. "There, now, nice and easy, Mr. Carson." She managed to get him to a sitting position on the floor and, after a moment, managed to help him to stand long enough for him to make it to the nearest chair, where he promptly slumped down in a most un-Carson-like position and closed his eyes.

Mrs. Hughes reached into her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief, moving over to the glass of water that was on the butler's desk. Wetting the cloth and squeezing out the excess, she moved back to him and crouched down once more next to the chair. She leaned forward, gently wiping away the dripping blood before dabbing lightly at the gash to staunch the flow. He seemed not to have noticed yet that it had been soiling his lapel, a fact for which she was eternally grateful at that moment, knowing his sense of confusion produced a calm that never would have been present otherwise.

"Mrs. Hughes, I assure you, I'll be just fine," he said quietly, opening his eyes. The sudden nearness of her overwhelmed him; on top of the confusion brought about by the harsh pain bouncing around in his head, he feared that if she continued to maintain such a close proximity he would soon lose all control over his movements and words, something he wasn't quite ready to have happen. _Not yet_ , he thought, _but perhaps soon._

She turned her head slightly upon hearing his words, and noticed as if for the first time just how near their faces were to one another. His breath on the side of her neck as he'd spoken had jolted her into a sense of ... _awareness_ , she supposed … and she suddenly found herself quite flustered in a manner that was altogether _not_ appropriate. "Just until you catch your breath, then," she said, a slight shudder to her voice.

"Mr. Carson! Whatever has happened?" came a voice from the doorway. "Should we have Mr. Barrow telephone the doctor?"

Mrs. Hughes turned sharply and saw Daisy and Madge peeking around the door jamb. "No, Daisy, thank you, I will take care of that in a moment. Mr. Carson will be fine."

"But I don't need the doctor, I just need a moment to gather myself," he protested weakly.

"Mr. Carson, I'm going to call Dr. Clarkson immediately, and there won't be another word about it! You've sustained a nasty wound to your head and I'm sure it's a great deal more painful than you've let on."

"But – "

" _No_."

Daisy watched this exchange in awe, suddenly _realizing_ something she'd not put together before. She hadn't quite managed to clear her expression before the housekeeper turned again to face her, and she feared for a moment that Mrs. Hughes had been able to read _her_ face as easily as she was always able to read the butler's expressions.

"Daisy," said Madge, tapping her friend's arm lightly, "let's get back before Mrs. Patmore has to come and find you herself." Just then, a bell rang in the distance, and Madge heard Anna's voice say it was for Lady Edith's room.

Daisy nodded and the girls headed down the corridor. As they turned the corner, Mrs. Hughes could hear Madge giggling. She let out a forceful sigh, and turned her eyes back to Mr. Carson.

"Don't you move from that chair," she warned. "Here, just hold this a moment." She continued to hold the handkerchief over the gash as Mr. Carson reached up to grab it, her heartbeat racing for a moment as his fingers brushed over hers, his eyes meeting her own with a look of something she was afraid to identify, something so close to what she, herself, was trying to cover up in her own. With a deep breath, she backed away and turned to the desk, picked up the receiver, and asked to be connected to Dr. Clarkson's office.

"What, exactly, happened back there?" Madge asked Daisy as soon as they were out of earshot of the butler's pantry. "You looked as if you'd taken a turn."

"I'm not entirely sure," Daisy said, "but it sounded as though Mrs. Hughes were Mr. Carson's _wife_ instead of his friend, didn't it?"

Madge giggled. "Well, they _do_ often act like an old, married couple at that. But, truly, who would ever believe it of either of them – at their age, carrying on?"

Neither girl had noticed Miss Baxter approaching them from behind, having followed them from the corridor where she'd been privy to the conversation happening in the butler's pantry as well. Having also heard the crash she'd come at once but, seeing that Mrs. Hughes had it firmly in hand, she'd simply started to back away before catching sight of Daisy and Madge.

"From all that I can collect by your manner of talking, you must be two of the silliest girls in the country!" came Miss Baxter's voice. Her usually soft-spoken manner had given way to a somewhat strict tone that neither of the young women had ever heard from her before – one that, despite her words, said she thought them anything but _silly_ at that moment. "I have suspected it of you for some time, Madge, but I am now convinced." Looking at Daisy, she continued, her voice quieting noticeably, "But I'd not have expected that from you." With a final look at them both, she shut their gossip down completely.

"I'm ever so sorry," said Daisy quietly.

Miss Baxter approached her, eyes full of kindness once again. "I know that, Daisy, but speculation about the lives of others is rarely in anyone's best interest."

"Yes, Miss Baxter." Daisy looked at Madge, who had by this time turned bright red and seemed to be backing away slowly.

"Don't go anywhere, please, Madge," said Miss Baxter, voice still quiet but the tone altogether different. Daisy knew that, despite having her back to Madge, Miss Baxter could see that the maid was trying to escape.

"But I've got to see to Lady Edith," Madge squeaked. Miss Baxter may not have been her boss, but Madge had a healthy fear of the woman that she couldn't explain. Miss Baxter was always so kind, but there was something underneath that made Madge think of Mrs. Hughes in a way that she just couldn't explain.

"Then I'll walk up with you," said Miss Baxter.

As Daisy fled to the kitchen, Miss Baxter and Madge began to head toward the servants' stairs, where they were stopped at the bottom by none other than Mrs. Hughes.

"Is Mr. Carson alright?" asked Miss Baxter softly, her caring eyes reminding Mrs. Hughes that her Ladyship's maid was more observant than most gave her credit for.

"He should be," answered the housekeeper with a sigh and a brief closing of her eyes, opening them again and sending a not-so-heavily-veiled glance of utter relief back at Miss Baxter.

Miss Baxter reached out and squeezed the housekeeper's arm for the briefest moment, then dropped her hand. "I'm glad to hear it," she whispered with a small smile.

"Oh, and Miss Baxter?" Mrs. Hughes said, shooting Madge a look that made the girl want to blend right into the floor and disappear. "Thank you … I appreciate your taking control of an _atmosphere_ when needed." The housekeeper's voice simply oozed false sweetness, a fact that was not lost on either of the other two women.

"My pleasure," said Miss Baxter with a small nod, leading Madge once again toward the stairs.

 _Housekeeper material indeed_ , thought Mrs. Hughes as she made her way to the Abbey's door to await Dr. Clarkson's arrival. _That just may come in handy one day, after all._

The End

 **Please leave a review if you're so inclined - they keep me going! :)**


	2. Pride Challenge Ch 2: They Walked On

**A/N: Pride Challenge #2, in which I loosely incorporated the following quote:** **"They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects."**

 **Please pardon my playing around with it a bit.** **Hugs to brenna-louise for proofing this on the fly! :)**

 **xx**

Mrs. Hughes was beside herself with anxiety. The past week since Mr. Carson had taken a spill in his office had thrown her for a complete loop. She wasn't sleeping well, she was a bit snappish with her girls, and she couldn't keep her eyes off of the horrid bruise on his head, knowing it wasn't her fault but feeling awful about it nonetheless. But her anxiety was only building every time she laid eyes on the man, because she couldn't help remembering what it had been like to be _so close_ to him, tending him as though she were … well, the girls had it right, really … his _wife_.

 _Oh, my heavens._ The thought alone made her giddy, and it was hard to tamp that down so that she could actually present herself anywhere outside of her own bedroom, allow herself to be seen. Yes, she'd been rather forward, taking liberties with getting _closer_ to the man than propriety dictated. Yes, she realized that his wound was perhaps not life-threatening, although she was legitimately concerned for his heart, knowing the stress of having to stop working and be tended to by a doctor was sure to have some sort of effect on his sensibilities. But she wasn't really _sorry_ for insisting that Dr. Clarkson examine him, and she certainly didn't _regret_ allowing herself to get close enough to her butler to make his heart flutter just a _little_ more.

' _My butler.' Hmm._ She liked the sound of that. Too much, perhaps. _Well, there's nothing to be done about it now except wait for him, see what he does._ So, wait she would.

Mr. Carson, on the other hand, couldn't really bear everyone's glances of pity (or, in Mr. Barrow's case, _amusement_ ) anymore. Yes, he may have spilled a bit of water as he was pouring it in his pantry and, yes, it's _possible_ that he didn't notice it (for which he had been suitably embarrassed by an endless amount of teasing from Mrs. Patmore, who said something along the lines of how "Mr. Carson probably sees things being done improperly even in his sleep,") and, _yes_ , he'd slipped in the spilled water and hit his head on the corner of his desk, and _YES_ , he'd been found in, well, an awkward position by Mrs. Hughes. None of those thoughts made him feel any better; despite all the caring that most of the staff were trying to send his way, he still felt like a fool. They were coddling him as though he were a child about to topple from a ladder. Just yesterday morning, Daisy had shown up at his door with fresh tea and a headache powder; it was all he could do not to send her way with a roar of Carsonesque proportions, embarrassed at the thought of being taken care of by the kitchen maid of all people. Thankfully, in the back of his constantly-aching head, he could hear a little Scottish voice whispering, "They're doing it because they _care_ , Mr. Carson, and you'd do best to allow it instead of making them feel guilty for their kindnesses."

So he let it happen. And he _was_ feeling better today, despite the horrid discoloration of the skin on his temple. A few days' worth of having Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley serving at mealtimes and bringing up tea had given the butler an enormous amount of time off; he was better rested, the ledgers were up-to-date, and the wine cellar had gotten a thorough going over. So he'd used the rest of his unusually free time to ponder the only remaining problem he saw in his life: _what to do about Mrs. Hughes._

Blast it, he'd almost had it under control! He'd feared something was shifting in their relationship, something he couldn't quite identify, something about the way she looked at him (more kindly), spoke to him (more softly), walked with him from church on Sundays (definitely a bit closer) … it was all but none of those things. And then it had hit him all at once: she was being a bit more … _familiar_ with him. Oh, never to use his first name or to take his arm unless it was offered, and then only on a walk from town … but _familiar_ somehow. And then, as he'd been lying in a most embarrassing position (flat on his floor in a small pool of spilled water, a gash on his head and stars in his eyes that, at least _that_ time, _didn't_ have to do with the Abbey's housekeeper), in had walked the object of his distraction, the reason he'd so uncharacteristically spilled water without noticing, the reason he'd been walking around with his gaze turned inward instead of outward, the reason he'd been clumsy for weeks, really.

And she couldn't come in and just go to fetch help, _oh nooo_ , she had to come over and take his hand, help him up, put his hand _in_ _hers_ and take his elbow, hold his body _alongside of hers_ and lead him to a seat. And then came the help to clean the wound … and, ultimately, the actual fall of the guillotine's blade: her face so close to his, her breath on his cheek, so near that he could feel her warmth and pick up on the lavender scent of her hair. "Let me help you," she'd said. "Nice and easy," she'd called it.

Then he'd seen a gleam in her eye, and he knew in that instant that her nearness was unnecessary to help him address the task of tending the wound, that her personal touches were unrequired to see him to a seat, and that her own slight nervousness stemmed from much more than just the fact that he was her _friend_. Yes, he'd seen the truth in her beautiful eyes, and he'd also glimpsed a bit of _her_ discomfort. He found himself a bit amused by that, really; for all her forwardness, she'd not foreseen that she could possibly overwhelm _herself_ as well.

 _Friends …_ He'd always assumed they were, and had thought they were alright with that. And now he knew he had been horribly, unequivocally wrong about that assumption. And _that_ thought made him a happy man, indeed.

He knocked just before he gently pushed open the door of her sitting room. "Mrs. Hughes? Might you have a moment?" _I know that you do, woman, so PLEASE just acknowledge it_.

"Of course, Mr. Carson. What can I do for you?"

"Ahem. Yes … well, you could accompany me on a walk through the garden, perhaps? I'd like to get a bit of fresh air, but am slightly unsure whether or not I am up for it alone." _Oh for heaven's sake, man, that was a bold-faced LIE and you know it._

 _Daft man,_ Mrs. Hughes thought, desperately attempting not to roll her eyes in her amusement. _I thought we'd established last year that he's a terrible liar._ "That sounds lovely," was what she said aloud. "Just let me tell Miss Baxter that I'm stepping out, alright?"

He nodded, nearly in a state of disbelief that she'd said yes.

' _Stepping out,' indeed._

As they walked into the garden, both noticed that the sun was beginning its descent, bathing the gardens in glorious shades of crimson. They'd not yet spoken, taking the moment to relish the beauty surrounding them and to gather their thoughts. Mrs. Hughes suddenly stopped by a small fence lined with a variety of yellow and red blooms. She took one in her hand and crouched down to sniff it, a contented smile on her face. He approached her, _not too near, mind you,_ and gasped when she stood suddenly and turned to face him, instantly much closer than he'd wanted or even imagined she'd be.

"Mr. Carson," she said carefully, "should we perhaps use this time to discuss the _real_ thing we need to discuss? Perhaps the one better left unsaid in the walls of my sitting room with its vent or in your pantry with its windowed door?"

 _Ever straight and to the point._ "Yes, Mrs. Hughes," he said, taking her hand in his, "I believe we should." He raised her fingers to his lips, letting his breath graze across her knuckles before kissing them and releasing her hand once again. "I'd say a slow, meandering walk back would be in order, if you're in agreement, to give us time to truly discuss this … _thing._ "

She nodded. "Yes, I think that would be best."

And so they walked on, without knowing in what direction, the irony of being in the most beautiful of Yorkshire's gardens lost on them, these two friends-turned-something-different who now only had eyes for one another. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects.

 **If you feel so inclined, please leave a teensy review and let me know what you thought! This is for the folks who really had to know how Mr. Carson managed to fall. [See, I DO read those reviews. ;) ]**


	3. Pride Challenge Ch 3: Heart Enough

**Chelsie Pride Challenge #3:**

 **"We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement."**

The sun had nearly set as Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson entered the servants' door once again. It was almost time to ring the gong, and neither spoke a word to one another as Mr. Carson headed off to do just that.

Mrs. Hughes was trying valiantly to keep a straight face as she hung her coat and hat, cognizant of the fact that there were several staff milling about in the servants' hall. She ignored them for the most part, but felt Mrs. Patmore's eyes on her as she passed by the kitchen door on her way to her sitting room.

After entering her parlour and making it halfway across the room, the housekeeper turned again and closed her door. She then sat at her desk and opened her ledger, staring at it for several minutes without actually seeing anything, only to remember that she'd just finished with that task before heading out for her walk with Mr. Carson.

 _Mr. Carson_ , she thought. _We're finally getting somewhere now, aren't we?_ She couldn't help the smile that had planted itself on her face, and she was wondering how awfully difficult it was going to be to sit by his side – his right hand, as she'd so steadily been in the past – and give nothing away. Not that there was anything, really, _to_ give away; they had no plan, barely what one would call an understanding, even. Their conversation had been made up of a great deal of words that had said very little of substance, but what little had come of it had changed her life in such a meaningful way: the man that Elsie Hughes loved had all but admitted that he loved _her_. For now, it was all she needed. She knew the rest would come piece by carefully-placed piece, word by extremely well-planned word; she understood that the long, meandering walk they'd physically taken this evening was nothing compared to the distance the butler had already traveled toward her in his own heart.

A knock sounded on her door. "Come in," she called, attempting to right her expression into one of nonchalance. The door opened slowly and in came Mrs. Patmore, a tray with two cups and a steaming teapot on it.

"I've brought you some tea, figuring you might need it after your _long walk_ ," she said pointedly. Without waiting for any further invitation she set it on the sideboard, turning to pour a cup for each of them. She handed one to Mrs. Hughes, then took the chair closest to the housekeeper's desk. " _So_?"

Mrs. Hughes raised an eyebrow. " _So_?" she repeated.

"So, what was _that_ all about?" demanded the cook. "And don't you play coy with me, Mrs. Hughes, because I've known that man for more years than you have and I can see a change on his face from a mile away. _So_? Out with it. What did he say as you were taking a very un-customary stroll through her Ladyship's garden, hm?"

Mrs. Hughes pursed her lips, half annoyed by the cook's brazen accusation and half aware that she'd expected it. She allowed a small sigh to escape her lips, a stalling tactic that wasn't helping her whatsoever to formulate words that would appease the woman before her. "I'm not sure what you mean, exactly. Mr. Carson is feeling better since his fall and he wanted to take a walk. He wasn't sure it was a good idea to do so alone given that his injury is still bothersome at times, and I happened to have a few moments to spare. What of it?"

Mrs. Patmore shook her head and shot a very disbelieving look back at the housekeeper. "I see. A walk. Yes, because Mr. Carson _always_ takes a turn in the Abbey's gardens just before he's to ring the gong." She waited, knowing full well that she'd caught Mrs. Hughes in some kind of fib but not really sure how to bring about the truth.

"Well, that's what he wanted," Mrs. Hughes insisted truthfully. "And it's quite lovely there …" She blushed as she realized how dazed and girlish her voice had sounded, and looked up at Mrs. Patmore in horror as she knew she'd been caught out.

"Ah! _Now_ we're getting somewhere. Please, _please_ tell me that man finally explained how dear you are to him."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Patmore? What on earth do you mean?" Mrs. Hughes knew she was buying time now, trying to figure out just how much to give away about the agreement that she didn't quite have with the lovely butler.

"You know what I mean, Elsie Hughes," came Mrs. Patmore's whisper. "The man can't keep his eyes off of you, has a dreamy look about him whenever you say something kind toward him, and has a much _different_ look about him when you challenge him. He _loves_ you, you daft woman. Please tell me that you at least know _that_ by now."

"I'm not sure that it's entirely proper for us to be having this conversation at all, Mrs. Patmore … But I'll not deny that things are changing, a bit anyhow," she replied quietly. "And that will have to be enough for now."

Mrs. Patmore finished her tea and rose from her seat. "Fine, then, that will be 'enough' for now, as you put it. But make no mistake: those of us with eyes enough to see can tell you feel the same about him."

"Mr. Carson and I are friends – _good_ friends – as we should be in order to keep this lot under our thumbs on a daily basis."

Mrs. Patmore looked at her for a moment, a smile coming to her face. "Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I know that you are, and I'm glad for it. But we can all begin freely, you know, and a slight preference for one another is natural enough, I suppose. But there are very few of us who have heart enough to be _really_ in love without encouragement. Do give him some encouragement along the way, won't you? Our Charlie is a stubborn man when he wants to be, but I've no doubt that where he wants to end up is right by your side."

A look of shock mixed with wonder passed across the housekeeper's face as she processed the words. "Yes," she acquiesced softly, "I'm well aware that he does need a bit of encouragement. I didn't realize it was so evident to _you_ , however. Please …" she trailed off.

"My lips are sealed – _honestly_ ," came the cook's reply. "I've known the man since he was nearly a boy, and I'll do _nothing_ to jeopardize this for him. Just take care of those feelings he keeps hidden away, won't you?"

Mrs. Hughes nodded, getting up to place her cup on the tray as Mrs. Patmore collected it from the sideboard and prepared to head back to the kitchen.

"Thank you," Mrs. Hughes said softly. "I appreciate your kindness, toward both of us."

Mrs. Patmore said nothing more; she nodded as she left the room, leaving the door open behind her.

 **A/N: Reviews always welcomed with loving arms! Please pardon my slight deviation from the wording. While these quotes work exceedingly well for Austen's characters, they're a bit trickier for the ones we're playing with.**


	4. Pride Challenge Ch 4: Happiest Creature

**A/N: I swear I did not forget about this fic. I always intended to come back to this challenge and do have two more chapters planned for it, at least. Just got wrapped up in Music and WWTA. Hopefully a few of you are still around for this one. Shout out to dibdab4 for throwing the challenge out ages ago, which is to incorporate one of several quotes from P &P into a Chelsie fic. I cut this quote, but managed most of it.**

 **Not beta'd, so bear with me. I needed to throw some Chelsie love out there after the UTTER LACK of it in S6 Ep 4. Enough said so as to spoil nothing.**

 ***This is a series fic, so if you're newly reading, please zip on back to Chapter 1 and start there. We'll wait. :) Otherwise, this won't make much sense.**

 **xx, CSotA**

" **I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but not one with such justice."**

If she wasn't careful, Mrs. Hughes was going to pace a hole into the floor of her sitting room. She was counting the seconds until everyone left for church and had been ready for an hour, having gotten caught up on all of her work the night before so as to be able to enjoy as much of the walk to and from church as was possible. She was grateful for the icy roads, as it meant that Mr. Carson would be able to offer his elbow to her as they all made their way and, as was their custom, they would likely hang back behind the rest of the group in order to be able to discuss things.

But _household_ things wouldn't be the topic of conversation – not today. Today they'd be discussing something wonderful, something infinitely more important than Christmas celebrations and the ordering of party supplies. Today, they'd be discussing their future: his plan for purchasing an investment home, a proposition in which she'd heard much more than 'do you think we should invest in a property together?'

At least, she hoped she did. Regardless, they _would_ be discussing it if she had anything to do about it. She'd actually thought that his intention had been more like 'Do you think we should invest in a _life_ together?' and that – typical of Mr. Carson – he just couldn't manage to say out loud what was truly in his heart.

She prayed she was right, or it would be a very long walk back from church, indeed. An hour of pacing around in her parlour wasn't helping matters, either.

She knew she couldn't go in with him on any type of actual financial investment – God knows she gave enough of her paycheck every month to Becky, and she had no real savings to speak of. But if it was a modest place, something that perhaps required elbow grease to put to rights and only a tiny bit of income from her up front, then perhaps she _could_ be part of it. She could help him, at any rate, with things like bed linens and curtains and the multitude of other items that she knew he would have neither interest nor instincts in procuring.

 _Bed linens … good heavens, Elsie. No need to think of that._

But if … well, if his intentions _were_ made clear, then she'd have to think of it all, wouldn't she? If he wanted a _marriage_ , which was her fervent hope – and something that, since the episode when he'd fallen and their subsequent walks through the autumnal gardens, she was more certain of every day – then she'd truly have to consider all of the _details._

 _It wouldn't be fair, would it, to hope for a marriage borne of love and tenderness that didn't include … well … THAT. And perhaps he DOES want ... that. Perhaps he doesn't mind that you're not thirty anymore, or that -_

The knock on her door startled her, welcome though it was.

"Mrs. Hughes? Are you ready?"

She turned and gave him a dazzling smile. "Of course, Mr. Carson. Shall we walk together?"

"That was my hope," he replied, relieved. She realized in that moment that her suspicions were correct, for she could read on his face everything his words hadn't said – he had just as much love for her, just as much tenderness in his face and in his eyes, as she had for him. And passion - yes, that was there as well, simmering under the surface. She knew him so well by now she could almost sense his feelings with her eyes closed, but the look he had about him today was the same look that she'd noticed when she was crouched beside him wiping the blood from the gash on his head, when she'd felt his warm breath caressing her skin.

 _Deep breaths, Elsie. Deep breaths._

They made their way down the corridor and headed out with the rest of the staff. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes moved along slowly, with Mrs. Hughes feigning a desperate attempt to not slip on the almost non-existent ice in order to have some excuse as to why the others were getting so far ahead. Anna, however, was walking alongside them.

"Oh, don't mind me," she told Anna, who seemed to be quite concerned with making sure Mrs. Hughes didn't fall. The housekeeper appreciated her concern, but this was _not_ the day for Anna to be hanging back out of some sense of duty, caring though she was.

"I'll be fine, you go on ahead with the others and we'll catch up. I'm sure Mr. Carson won't mind keeping an eye on me." Then, she added as a last-ditch effort, "Perhaps you and Mr. Bates can be sure Mr. Barrow isn't tormenting the new footman."

Anna nodded and took her husband's hand, and Mrs. Hughes saw them move ahead to where the others were. When they were out of earshot, Mr. Carson offered his elbow to Mrs. Hughes. She took it and gave it a little squeeze, and his heart fluttered.

"We can't have you falling, Mrs. Hughes," he said, the multiple layers of meaning in his words not lost on her.

"No, I've heard that when one falls and hits one's head, strange things come about," she volleyed.

"Hmmm … indeed."

They walked on silently for a bit, each hoping the other would put words to what was hanging between them. Finally, Mrs. Hughes could stand it no longer.

"Mr. Carson," she ventured, "tell me more about this … investment property."

She felt his muscles tense under the grasp of her hand, the change in his demeanor so evident to her despite the multiple layers of fabric separating her fingers from his skin. She bit down on her lip, cursing herself for being so forward, but she needn't have worried.

"About that," he murmured, clearly choosing his words carefully.

"Yes?" she asked after a moment. "What is it?"

Mr. Carson looked ahead and slowed his steps even further, causing Mrs. Hughes to do the same. He moved over to the edge of the road, pulling her along with him.

"Mrs. Hughes," he began, an almost pleading look in his eyes. "I have to confess something to you, only I am not quite sure if it will upset you. I don't _think_ it will, but it's possible, and the last thing I want to do is -"

"Mr. Carson," she interrupted. "Please, before one of us turns this into a funeral procession by freezing to death, what are you trying to tell me? Surely you've not _lied_ to me about anything?"

"Well, no, not exactly," he said, concentrating on the flush of her cheeks. He wondered if it were the cold air or … well, something else. He knew that _he_ was certainly feeling a heightened sense of warmth despite the biting chill to the air that the morning had brought.

"Mr. Carson," she said again. "Is this about the property?"

"Yes and no," he admitted. "Yes, in a way, I suppose it _is_ about the cottage ... but it is also not, in that the cottage is not the _only_ thing I wish to speak to you about. I am sorry, I don't appear to be making sense of this. What I mean to say is …" he trailed off, his mouth too dry to speak.

Fortunately, Mrs. Hughes came to his rescue.

"Mr. Carson, I can assure you, there is nothing you could possibly tell me today that would offend me, or upset me, or frighten me." She turned and placed her free hand on his forearm, squeezing it firmly as she leaned the smallest bit closer to him. "Nothing," she whispered.

Mr. Carson looked into her eyes and got completely, inexplicably lost in their brightness. He stole a look down the road and, noticing none of the other staff in his range of vision, he turned his attention back to the woman who stood before him, holding onto his arms and looking at him, _pleading_ with him to bare his soul to her.

 _She knows,_ he thought suddenly. _She already knows. Of course she does. So why fight it?_

"Mrs. Hughes," he whispered back. He reached down and removed his right glove, then placed his warm hand against the cold skin of her cheek. The shockingly different temperature (or perhaps just the gesture) caused her to breathe a small gasp, opening her lips slightly.

Mr. Carson felt as though he were in a dream, where things he wanted to happen were actually happening, and yet the entire situation was outside of his control. He felt himself lean down and capture her lips in a kiss; he marveled at the sensation of grasping her cold lower lip between his warmer ones and feeling her breath mingling with his own. After a couple of seconds, it occurred to him that she'd begun returning the kiss rather forcefully, a thought that sent a sharp arrow of something straight to his very core. _Sharp, but hardly unpleasant._

Breaking away, Mrs. Hughes smiled brilliantly at him. "Yes?" she replied, rather belatedly.

"I did not ask you to invest in a property with me as a mere business venture."

She chuckled at that. "Oh, I did rather hope not."

He raised his eyebrow at that. "I see," he said with a smirk. "And what _did_ you hope?"

But she just shook her head, smiling at her lovely man. "Ohhh, no, Mr. Carson. You don't get out of it that easily." The twinkle in her eye was all he needed, and it gave him the courage to finish what he'd started.

He looked down at her hands - both still gloved - and raised one of them to his lips. "Mrs. Hughes, I have been in love with you for a very, _very_ long time, and thanks to your kindness and patience with me I feel as though I am finally ready to admit it." He swallowed, then forged ahead. "It would be my utmost honor if you would agree to be my wife. I won't press you, but -"

Her lips came crashing up onto his, effectively ending whatever else the man had to say. He wrapped his arms around her, forgetting completely that he was holding a glove as he spread his hands over her back, the glove falling forgotten by the side of the road.

"Mr. Carson, yes, _of course_ I'll marry you! I didn't think you'd ever get around to _asking."_

"You - _what?_ I mean to say … thank you … Elsie."

She had managed to hold herself together for weeks. When he'd fallen and hit his head, she was by his side, caring for him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Then they'd crossed that divide between friendship and something more, and her heart had soared. The weeks since had brought about a variety of sensations, but it was hearing his use of her Christian name, hearing the way it spilled from his mouth, sounding like something between a hum and a prayer, that did her in completely. Tears overflowing, she just shook her head and smiled.

"Elsie, are you unhappy?"

"Mr. Carson - _Charles_ \- I am the happiest creature in the world. Perhaps other people have said so before, but …"

He reached up to brush away her tears, and then noticed his glove was missing and bent to retrieve it. As he slid it onto his hand, Elsie grabbed his arm. "We really must be going," she said. "And quickly! They'll wonder where we've disappeared to, and that won't be a good thing."

"No, I suppose it wouldn't. Besides," he said, winking at her, "I think I need to have a word with Reverend Travis."

 **Do drop a wee little review, if you would, and let me know what you think!**


	5. Pride Challenge Ch 5: Glances

**A/N: This chapter is the fifth in my "Chelsie Pride Challenge" fic, which will conclude in one more chapter. However, this particular chapter also addresses the current tumblr Chelsie-Prompt, entitled "Glances." It's not necessary to have read my other Chelsie Pride chapters to understand this one, but you should be aware that, together, they will be one full story.**

 **The "Chelsie Pride Challenge" encouraged writers to utilize quotes from Pride and Prejudice in a Chelsie-centric way. The two quotes that you'll find at the end of this chapter don't usually go together, but I thought they worked well here. **

**My thanks to chelsie-carson/Hogwarts Duo for looking this over for me. I needed an escape from AtF to get the creative juices flowing again. :)**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

They'd decided upon a May wedding and had planned to keep their engagement secret for a full two weeks before telling the family or the staff.

 _"We have so very little that is private in this world,"_ Elsie had said sensibly as they'd walked home from church that day. _"I think I'd like for us to just have this shared bit of happiness for ourselves, for a little while at least."_

The joy radiating from her eyes had enraptured her fiancé and he'd agreed immediately, realizing fully in that moment that the overpowering love he had for her - freely admitted to and accepted at last - would make it extremely difficult for him to win any arguments they might have in the future; simply put, one look from those vivid blue eyes of hers would always be his absolute undoing … in more ways than one, perhaps.

" _I suddenly feel that this marriage will be incredibly one-sided,"_ he'd replied, _"for I find that I no longer want to deny you anything that will make you happy."_

She'd glanced at him then and laughed as she squeezed his arm tightly, knowing full well that their life together would be fraught with just as many disagreements as it had been before … but, then again, he always hated it when they were in disagreement. She hadn't realized until that moment how powerful of a hold she had over him.

What she'd misjudged completely was the power of the hold that _he_ would have over _her._

* * *

When the two allotted weeks were up, Charles met Elsie by the doorway to the library at half three. It was a sunny late-winter afternoon; the snow was melting into rivulets that were streaming down outside the windows and walls of the Abbey. Both of them secretly hoped that the sunshine outside would reflect inward and give a boost to the family as they contemplated the possibility of keeping on a married housekeeper and butler.

Elsie reached out and brushed Charles's fingers with her own, a movement so brief that anyone passing by and seeing it would wonder if it had been imagined. But the effect of her touch was great and he managed a deep, calming breath before smiling gently at her, a spark of something alight in his eyes that had not lived there before.

"Ready?" he asked, and she nodded. But as he reached for the door's handle he abruptly stopped and turned toward her again.

"Elsie, whatever they say, know that I plan to make you my wife regardless."

His complete dedication took her breath away. She dipped her chin slightly and looked up at him, a smile coming to her face as she nodded infinitesimally. He'd steeled her own resolve and had swept away her fears; when he finally opened the door, she felt completely calm about the scene that was to unfold before them.

* * *

The family's blessing secured, the next step was to move on and tell the staff. Charles had been calm about announcing their plans to the family but Elsie had needed a bit of reassurance; she had known, however, that the opposite would be true _below_ stairs, in that realm where Charles Carson had always ruled with a stern demeanor and an unquestionable strictness in his unwavering dedication to formality. It was a persona that she recognized he'd be loathe to shed, and Elsie understood that _she_ would be the one who'd have to take charge there.

Ten minutes before the staff's dinner was to commence, Elsie summoned Charles to her sitting room with a light, _"Mr. Carson, might I have a moment of your time?"_ He looked up and raised an eyebrow in question, but only managed to catch the flutter of her skirts as she'd exited the doorway of his pantry.

When he entered her parlour he was rather surprised to find her not seated at her desk. She smiled sweetly at his confusion and passed by him to close her door … and then she promptly _locked_ it.

"Elsie?" he managed, instantly fearful that she was about to bring some horrible news crashing down upon him. "Are you alright?"

She realized instantly the mistake she'd made, smiling as she laid a steadying hand on his elbow. "I'm fine," she insisted. "But _you're_ not. Sit," she ordered, a flick of her wrist and pointed finger indicating her settee as opposed to his usual chair.

He obeyed instantly, the furrow of his brow only relaxing slightly as his concern switched to confusion. His hands rested on his knees and he just sat watching her, expecting her to sit beside him … which, of course, she did not.

Elsie moved to stand before him instead, nudging his knees apart with her leg so that she could step between them. Her new vantage point meant he had to look up at her - something he was rather unused to, and the importance of it hit him instantly. It brought him back to the last moment he'd felt so vulnerable in her presence, only this time he was not embarrassed and bleeding all over his livery.

She reached out slowly and took his face in her hands, allowing her fingernails to graze slowly through his carefully-combed hair - not enough to muss it, but enough for him to feel the tenderness of her touch.

"I think I should be the one to tell them," she said quietly, and he nodded gratefully. "I know you're concerned that they'll see you as … well, _less_ of the man you have always been. Weaker, perhaps? But you have nothing to fear, Charles. I think it'll be good for them to see that there must be another side to you, to the man stuffed into all of this," she added, brushing her hand over the stiff collar at his neck.

"They'll think I've gone soft," he said, clearly concerned, and she laughed quietly.

"No," she cooed. "They'll think _I_ have. But that's a risk that I am more than willing to take."

She bent down and drew his face to hers and placed a firm kiss to his lips, parting hers slightly after a moment and feeling a surge in her abdomen as he did the same; he was allowing her to guide him as he'd done countless times in the past. It was only the third kiss they'd shared since reaching their agreement, but it was by far the most passionate; when the tip of his tongue brushed hers, he gasped, breathing some of her breath into his lungs before she broke away.

"I love you," she whispered, and he closed his eyes as he allowed that love to wash over him, strengthening him as she so often did.

She watched as his resolve deepened, could see the changes in him as she glanced over his features, as she saw him reset the stoic, confident image that had been on his face minutes before.

"I'm alright," he rumbled, and she held her hand out to him as he stood.

Elsie nodded firmly and went to unlock the door. As she reached for the knob, she was shocked at the feel of his hand on her hip, at the way his breath was suddenly tickling her neck.

"And I love you, too," he whispered in her ear, and the warmth of his words and of this hand on her hip replenished the strength she'd just given to him, allowing her to open the door and step out with her customary air of confidence.

She glanced back at him. "Ready?"

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Following your lead, Mrs. Hughes. Isn't that how we usually do things?"

The others heard her light laughter before either of the heads of staff came into view. Anna glanced at her husband, a knowing smirk on her face. Mrs. Hughes had confided in her earlier that she and Mr. Carson had to speak to the staff about something important, and that under no circumstances were there to be any absent maids or footmen from tonight's dinner. Anna had her suspicions as to what this announcement would be, and the sound of Mrs. Hughes's laughter only confirmed them.

Everyone stood to attention as the heads of staff entered the servants' hall, and a few were confused that Mr. Carson hadn't waved his hand at them to be seated again immediately.

"We've an announcement to make," Elsie said without preamble, scanning the group to be sure everyone was in attendance. "I'd like to stress that what we have to say will not change anything about the way that Mr. Carson and I manage this staff and that you are all expected to act accordingly. However, we'd be remiss in not telling you right away, and would prefer you hear it from us and not the family."

Charles heard a faint gasp from the area of the kitchen and glanced over at Mrs. Patmore, her eyes full of unshed tears and a smile on her face. He gave her the slightest of nods and saw her smile broaden before he turned his attention back to the table, to the staff standing attentively around it. It was then that he realized by the looks on some of their faces that the forthcoming announcement was _not_ going to be the one they were clearly expecting.

"We aren't retiring," he said abruptly. "At least," he glanced at Elsie, who encouraged him with a tilt of her head, a soft blink of her eyes, and a faint smile of encouragement, quite at ease with the change in their plan, "not yet." _Deep breath._ "Mrs. Hughes and I are to be married this coming May. We've the blessing of Lord and Lady Grantham and intend to remain in our posts for as long as we are able. As Mrs. Hughes has said, the way in which we manage the business of this house will remain completely unchanged."

"Congratulations, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Bates said, and a sudden cacophony of sound erupted from the staff as the others echoed his words.

Charles waved his hand and everyone sat; Daisy brought in the food, and dinner progressed as it always had. Charles and Elsie resolutely refused to look at one another throughout the entire meal, occupying themselves instead with chatting with their neighbors about the recent good weather.

Later, when the pudding was served, Elsie hazarded a glance at her butler, only to find him staring at her intently. A flush spread over her neck and face and she turned away abruptly, but only after she'd caught a glimpse of his proud smirk. Then a bell sounded, and the staff began to scatter from the table, stuffing in one last bite of tart and swallowing one last gulp of tea.

Elsie followed Charles directly into his pantry. She closed the door behind her, grateful for the large window in the wall - hopefully a guarantee that he'd manage to keep his wits about him given that the entire staff was milling about in the corridor.

"Elsie?"

"You cannot do that to me - not in front of the staff!" she hissed.

"Do what?" he volleyed, his eyebrows raised once again.

"You know perfectly well what, Mr. Carson! You cannot look at me like _that,_ not when they're all watching us!"

"Surely the stern, Scottish housekeeper can keep her emotions in check," he murmured, moving slightly closer to where she still stood by the door. He licked his lips and it was almost her complete undoing, and she realized much too late her error in stopping in front of his windowless door. She tried to move more to the center of the room, only to find that he was resolutely blocking her path. "Have a _little_ compassion on my nerves, Charles, before you tear them to pieces," she whispered, her voice shaking.

His mind recognized the phrase instantly and he chuckled, a soft rumble that sounded deep in his chest.

Her eyes widened in surprise and mirth as he said, "You thought I'd never read it, didn't you?"

"Have you a new penchant for Austen, Mr. Carson?"

"Are you asking if I've taken the time to read some of the things of which I know _you_ are so fond? Absolutely."

She was speechless – utterly speechless – at this declaration. She wondered fleetingly when he'd found the hours in the day.

"Oh, Elsie. We've come so far in such a short time," he murmured, a glance in the direction of the window assuring him that they were well out of sight of any passers-by. He laid his hand on her hip; ever the bastion of propriety, he gave it but the lightest of touches … that is, until his thumb brushed the fabric covering her abdomen and Elsie realized that her corset was the only thing keeping him from feeling the heat radiating off of every inch of her skin.

"And now nothing remains for me but to assure you in the most _animated_ language of the violence of my affection, Elsie," he whispered, leaning down and dropping a lingering kiss to her forehead.

A laugh escaped her lips, and she looked up at him, deep into his eyes. "Surely you're not proposing a marriage devoid of love, one of simple convenience?"

"Oh, no," he whispered. "As I'm sure you are not some frazzled woman trying to chide me for my youthful exuberance."

Her laugh startled him. "You really _have_ read some Aus-"

His lips came crashing down upon hers, cutting her off but lingering only a moment before he broke away.

"I can assure you, Elsie, those words carry a much different, much more _honest,_ meaning for me than they ever did when falling from the lips of Mr. Collins."

"Yes, I see that now," she murmured, breathless. "I wonder if we should keep the doors open until May," she added.

He smiled fondly at her, his darkened eyes staring deep into her blue ones. "Oh, that is probably an excellent idea."

* * *

 **There will be one more chapter to go after this to complete the Pride Challenge (and this story), but then all of my other Chelsie prompt fics (which will likely be one-shots) will end up here as well. Click the "follow" button if you'd like to be notified about when they post, and do leave a little review if you are willing and able. Thanks! :)**


	6. Pride Challenge Ch 6: The Foundation

**A/N:**

 **This will be my last entry for the Chelsie Pride Challenge. If you've not yet read the rest of this little story, please meander on back to Chapter 1 to catch up. Following this, my prompt replies for the other prompts will be deposited into this story, so please "follow" it if you'd like notifications for when that happens.**

 **Shout-out to _dibdab4_ for presenting the challenge ages ago, which asks the writer to incorporate a  Pride and Prejudice quote for each drabble. I wish I could have been creative enough to have used _all_ the quotes! And my eternal thanks to _chelsie fan_ for beta services rendered; my verb tenses now make much more sense. :) **

**(I realize this reads as a series of glimpses into the events prior to and following the wedding. I hope that works.)**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

No one had expected the days between the engagement announcement and the actual wedding to drag on slowly, but they had gone more swiftly than even Elsie had imagined. Amidst all the planning, there had been a rather large disagreement surrounding her dress, of all things, a battle of the wills between her and Charles in which he'd insisted upon buying her one and she'd adamantly refused … only to have a special delivery show up at the Abbey's servants' entrance three weeks after the last words they'd spoken on the subject.

She had received the package graciously from the delivery boy and had brought it to her sitting room; Charles had been upstairs presiding over the family's tea with the Dowager, and Elsie had been rather annoyed that she couldn't simply deposit the box on his desk and leave in a huff. _Well,_ she'd reasoned, _you_ _could have._ But somewhere in the back of her mind she reminded herself that she was hardly a petulant child. And, she had to admit, her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

So she'd opened the box and pulled out one of the loveliest dresses she'd ever seen. Its style was _her,_ as opposed to being something one of the upstairs ladies would have chosen. It was tailored in a simple fashion, with a hemline only slightly higher than her usual length and a neckline that did not extend past her collarbone. It could even have been considered plain were it not for the champagne-colored lace covering the bodice and sleeves – lace that matched the hue of the silk dress perfectly. She had held it up in front of herself and tried to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror … only to be interrupted at precisely that moment by Mrs. Patmore.

"It's lovely, then, isn't it?" she'd said softly. "Please tell me you'll keep it."

Elsie had whipped around at the sound of her friend's voice. "You _knew_ about this?"

"Pfft, of course I knew about it," the cook had replied, turning to close the door gently. "How else do you think he'd know the size?"

Elsie had flushed a deep scarlet.

"Oh," her friend had teased, "perhaps you thought his hands were just excellent guessers?"

"Stop that," Elsie had admonished. She'd brought her lip under her teeth and added almost silently, "Actually, it _had_ crossed my mind. But, really, I should have known he'd _never_ go inside a dress shop!"

Mrs. Patmore had just stared at her a moment. "What, did you not hear me, woman? I said I gave _him_ the measurements _._ I didn't say _I_ picked out the dress. Ohh, no. Your intended did that task all by himself."

"Truly?" Elsie had murmured, fingering the lace.

Mrs. Patmore had reached out and patted her friend on the hand.

"Truly."

* * *

Once the dress had arrived, the rest of the details for the wedding day had fallen into place seamlessly. Mr. Branson had volunteered (no, had _insisted)_ that his "favorite housekeeper" be escorted down the aisle on his arm, and she hadn't put up much of a fuss. The flowers had been chosen by Lady Edith and would be gifted by the Dowager from her own gardens; the breakfast had been arranged and would be held at the schoolhouse, and Charles had booked a honeymoon as a surprise for his wife.

A brief visit from Charles the day before the wedding surprised Elsie. They'd been so very, very careful in the weeks since they'd announced the engagement: no closed doors, always by a window, rarely alone at night to share a glass of anything. She'd felt as though she could make it through this one last day without seeing him … but only just. And then he'd knocked at her door.

She wondered now, as he entered the sitting room and closed the door behind him, if they'd been foolish to stay away from one another, which had only served to build a delicious - but frightening - frisson between them.

"Mr. Carson? Perhaps you should leave the door open."

He stood taller and gave her his most serious, Carsonesque look.

"Mrs. Hughes – _Elsie._ We've made it this far; I think I can hold off for one more day." He raised a prodigious eyebrow at her, and she smirked and shook her head before covering her face with her hands.

"I'm not sure _I_ can," she admitted as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Oh, come now," he said, tipping her chin up so that she would face him. "One kiss, and I'll leave you be … until tomorrow," he added, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"One kiss," she agreed.

"I suppose we should make it a good one, then, as the next time I'll be allowed to kiss you will be in front of the entire family and staff," he murmured, reaching for her shoulders, "and _that_ one will need to be a bit more reserved."

"Yes," she agreed, flushing as she looked into his eyes, "but the ones _after_ that one will require much less … restraint."

He returned her gaze intently. "I look forward to it."

His lips fell upon hers gently at first but a bit more forcefully as the seconds passed, their restraint bowing down to their passions in a dangerous way. As he began to withdraw, the butler imagined that he could hear the whisper of his housekeeper's heart as it reached out and touched his own, claiming it once again. When he finally left her and headed up to his room, he wondered when his heart had ever _not_ belonged to his beautiful Elsie and realized he couldn't remember at all.

Upon reaching his bedroom, Charles checked to see that he had everything he needed packed away in his valise. Before buckling the lid down once again, he added a small package to the top of the pile, fingering the blue ribbon that so perfectly matched his future wife's brilliant eyes.

* * *

The car whisked them from the train station to the bed and breakfast in Scarborough. Elsie looked out the window at it all rushing past: shoppes, families, trees scattered about, and – after making it around the last bend – the expanse of the sea.

Charles was watching as his wife's face lit up upon seeing the water. He reached out to take her hand; she squeezed his but couldn't tear her eyes away from the water.

"Is it like home?" he rumbled, his voice soft and deep as he leaned toward her ear, and she nodded.

"Very much so," she said, turning to face him. "And Brighton. It reminds me of both."

"Happy memories, Mrs. Carson?" he asked.

"Very happy, Mr. Carson," she smiled.

He lifted her hand to his lips. "Well," he murmured, kissing her fingers, "here's to making even more."

"Indeed," she breathed.

* * *

Charles couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd expected to fall fast asleep after they had gotten back to the room and had … well. He had dozed for a few minutes but had woken suddenly; he felt invigorated, _years_ younger than his actual age; a new man, indeed.

 _She,_ on the other hand, was blissfully asleep in his arms. Her hair, freed at last from the blasted pins that had always been a barrier to his fingers, was spread out over his chest, the silken strands of auburn and a fair few of silver caressing his skin. Her breath was warm on his shoulder; his hand rested comfortably at the small of her back. One of her legs was thrown over his in her sleep; her back was bare, pale, soft … and, he realized with a smile, quite _freckled._

He lifted his head and placed a gentle kiss to her temple, causing her to stir and hum in her sleep. The sound of it, like the many wonderful sounds she'd made _earlier,_ was new to his ears, and he catalogued it in the part of his mind that he'd always reserved for her. It was a corner of his brain that was becoming rather full, rather fast, and it occurred to him that he may need to reprioritize his life more than he had previously imagined.

As he breathed deeply, inhaling that sweet combination of her fragrance and the scent of her hair that he'd only recently gotten to know so intimately, it occurred to him that he wouldn't mind the doing that one bit.

"Charlie?" she murmured, lifting her head and turning it slowly. "Ow," she added, twisting it as far to the right as she could before gingerly moving it back.

"Here, let me," he said, sliding his hand up her back. He began to gently knead the muscles of her neck. She moaned softly, approvingly, and relaxed completely against him.

"Those hands are truly magical, you know." She turned her head again and placed a kiss to his shoulder.

"So you mentioned earlier," he chuckled. "There, is that better?"

She slid off his leg and onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows as she moved her head around a bit more.

"Much. Thank you, love," she murmured, leaning over. She kissed his lips slowly, languidly, her hand moving up to grab the back of his head and pull him down until they both, somehow, ended up on their sides. His tongue grazed hers, and she opened her mouth a bit more to welcome it, finding herself breathless after a few more moments.

"Good morning," he teased, his eyebrows raised.

"Mmm, yes, so far it's quite a lovely one," she returned, glancing out the window at the darkness. "Although perhaps a bit early, even for us," she added with a laugh.

"Well, it's not your average morning, is it?" He leaned over her and brushed a few strands of hair off her forehead, his fingertips glancing down her face before burying themselves in the locks at the nape of her neck. Leaning down, he stole another kiss.

When they broke apart, he sat up rather suddenly.

"Don't move," he instructed her as she reached down to pull the sheet up over her chest. He rested his hand on hers. "Please," he added, and she smiled lovingly.

"Alright." She bit down on her lip, a bit uncomfortable lying there completely bare, but did as he asked.

"Do you have any idea how maddening it is when you do this?" he whispered, pulling her lip out from underneath her teeth. He leaned down to kiss it, drawing it between his and soothing it with a flick of his tongue before sitting up again and leaning over to retrieve something from the side table.

"No," she demurred, "but now that I do …"

He whipped his head around to look back at her. "You're teasing me!"

She took her lip underneath her teeth again and smiled.

"Well, then," he added, holding up a package tied with a bright, blue bow. "Perhaps I'll just put this back."

"Oh, hush, you," she laughed, reaching her hand out for his and tugging him back toward her. "Come here … I'm getting cold."

"Well, we can't have that. That would make for a poor honeymoon, indeed."

He shifted back so that he was sitting upright against the headboard, then arranged the pillows and beckoned for her to sit beside him.

"For my wife," he said softly, handing her the package.

"You didn't have to do that," she admonished, blushing slightly as her eyes glanced at the package and back to his face. "I've nothing for you."

He reached his arm out and pulled her closer to him, tucking her into his side and pulling the sheet up to warm her. "Ah, but you've already given me _everything,_ Elsie," he said. "And this is just a token."

She closed her eyes briefly and nodded. "Alright, then," she said, taking it from him.

He watched as her hands pulled the ribbon apart, the glint from the bedside lamp bouncing off the gold that graced her finger. She pried the paper off and laughed.

"Really, Charles?" She lifted up a pristine copy of _Pride and Prejudice,_ the title shimmering in gold on the cover, her fingers brushing the soft leather of the cover, tracing the letters that spelled out the author's name. "It's gorgeous. I think it's the loveliest book I've ever held in my hands."

"Open it," he encouraged her.

She turned to look at him. "Will you read it to me?"

His eyes widened. "Of course. If you'd like me to …?"

"I would." She smiled again and turned back to the book, lifting the cover and seeing his inscription, and read it aloud:

"'I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.' Oh, Charles," she breathed, her eyes suddenly overflowing.

"I've always loved you, Elsie," he said, wiping her tears with the soft pads of his thumbs. "I'm sorry I needed a crack on the head to realize it."

She laughed through her tears, remembering. "Well, I'm sorry for how it all came about, but I can't say I'm sorry to be here, like this, with you. I love you too, you old booby."

He kissed her temple and turned her a bit in his arms so that she could lie back against his chest. He pulled the quilt up a bit as she settled in and then opened the book.

Elsie relaxed against him, the soft hairs on his chest feeling incredibly intimate as they touched her back. She chided herself for the silly thought, knowing full well that it was hardly the most intimate thing she'd experienced in the past twelve hours. Yet, in some ways, it really _was,_ for as passionate as Charles had proven himself to be, as loving and tender and caring as he'd been the night before (and only ever to her, she now knew), it would be moments like these that would be her reminders of just how deep his tenderness ran.

As he began to read, Elsie allowed her husband's deep voice to soothe her mind. She focused on the sound of the words she knew so well and the feel of the hum in his chest as it reverberated against her back. After several minutes, she was relaxed completely, unsure of where her own body ended and his began.

Before long, the soft sounds of his voice ended up mixing with the ebb and flow of the waves on the beach, slowly lulling her back to sleep.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please leave a little review if you feel so inclined. x  
**_


	7. Raining

**A/N: To fulfull the tumblr Chelsie-prompts request of the same name. Not beta'd, so please forgive any errors (especially those commas ... because #effyoucommas!).**

 **I'd love to hear what you think! My thanks to dameofdownstairs for nudging me in the right direction, and to chelsie-carson for the shared bit of inspiration.**

 **CSotA**

* * *

The rain was pounding down outside the cottage when a loud clap of thunder startled Charles out of a deep sleep. He instinctively, protectively, tightened his grip on his wife, who was currently curled into his body with her fists tucked underneath her chin. Her head rested on his arm (her pillow long since having tumbled onto the floor) and her breaths were deep and steady in her slumber.

He stretched up a bit to look past the curtain, noting that he could barely see beyond the window pane due to the heaviness of the droplets falling from the sky. The wind was whipping them all around to the point that it appeared to be raining sideways. He heard a second clap of thunder that was followed, a few short seconds later, by a flash of lightning.

Elsie hummed in her sleep and stirred a bit, cracking an eye open and seeing her husband's bare chest before her. She leaned forward and placed a warm, sleepy kiss to his skin before snuggling herself in impossibly closer; he wrapped his other arm around her and placed his hand on her hip.

"Quite the storm," she murmured. "Rather glad I've the morning off."

"Me, too," he rumbled quietly, the breath from his words fluttering her hair. He dropped a kiss to her brow and relaxed on his pillow again. He noticed that some wisps of hair had freed themselves from her loosened plait; they were tickling his arm a bit, but nothing short of a dire emergency would have made him shift either of their bodies in that most precious moment.

"I've always loved the rain," she said quietly, "but I love it _more_ when we're here, tucked away from the world. It's … isolating, in a most wonderful way."

"Agreed. But I hope it lets up before you need to head to the house."

She hummed in reply, her body relaxing as he gently trailed his fingers up and down her side. "That's hours from now though, Charlie."

Elsie was relishing her husband's soft touch; the shaking in his hand was slight this morning, but it was not completely absent. They'd noticed it would worsen with fatigue and overuse, and she felt a twinge of guilt at how late it had been when they'd finally fallen asleep. But then he shifted his leg slightly and she remembered they were still completely unclothed, and the heated pleasure of the previous night's activities came flooding back to her. She knew that Charles had no commitments today, and he certainly hadn't complained last night about the impending lack of sleep. They were newlyweds, after all, she thought with a smirk. It occurred to her that she'd likely come home this evening to find him napping in his chair by the fire, but she didn't mind; she rather enjoyed watching him as he slept, the peacefulness on his face in slumber that wasn't often present when he was awake.

She felt the rumble in his chest before hearing his chuckle; he rested his hand on her hip once again and squeezed it firmly.

"What is it?" she enquired.

He breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke, could visualise how his eyebrows were raised in that most expressive way he had when he was telling a pleasant, amusing anecdote.

"I remember the first time you experienced a Yorkshire storm like this one," he said. "Do you?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "There have been a fair few." She searched her mind, flipping through dozens of memories, until she came to the right one. "Ohh," she said, laughing softly, _"that_ one."

Elsie felt a flush creep up her cheeks as she recalled that horrible, days-long storm.

"Yes," he replied, shifting himself over a bit now so that he could see her beautiful face as they shared the memory. "Elsie, you're _blushing!"_ he exclaimed.

"It was mortifying, Charles!" she said, swatting him playfully.

"Yes, but have you seen us this morning?" he replied, indicating with a sweep of his hand their current state of undress. "I'd think you'd be well past any embarrassment from back then, Elsie."

"Hardly! I wasn't some dozy young thing, Charles. I could have kicked myself for being foolish enough to not think of bringing an umbrella!"

"What was it that you just _had_ to run into town for?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

"Charlie," she admonished.

"Oh, come now, Elsie," he smiled. "Indulge an old man's memory." He extended his hand over her hip, the tips of his fingers brushing the silky skin of her bottom.

She quirked her lips. "Fine," she said with an amused sigh. "A ribbon. It was a length of ribbon, Charlie."

"Ah, yes," he replied, "a ribbon. Blue, wasn't it? You put it on that grey hat." He smiled fondly as he remembered. "I rather loved that hat; it looked beautiful against the darkness of your hair."

"Did you?" she asked, astonished. "I never knew that!"

"Mm hm," he hummed.

"Well, I didn't even think that it would rain before I got back that afternoon. _I know,"_ she added before he could. "The _one day_ the farmgirl from Scotland couldn't smell the rain coming in with the wind."

"Well, one can't be right _all_ the time," he pushed, squeezing his now-calm fingers a bit.

"It was _your_ fault," she added. "I'd not have been in such a scatterbrained state had it not been for you."

His eyebrows shot up. "Pardon me?"

"It's true," she insisted with a small huff. She absentmindedly ran her fingertips through the soft, silver hair on his chest. "I was rather distracted that day, you see, by a very grumbly, very annoyed, very _handsome_ butler. I needed some fresh air before I made a fool of myself by pulling his face to mine and kissing him in front of all and sundry."

"You never thought that," he insisted, but a small bud of pride blossomed in his chest. "Did you?"

"I did. And so distracted was I that I ran off without my umbrella!"

"And so _lucky_ was _I_ to have caught you - quite literally - as you came back in," he laughed, remembering. "I recall every detail perfectly: the heat of the day, your dark skirt - the grey one, not the blue - and that beautiful blouse with the flower print. I became rather fond of that blouse ..."

He bent his head down and placed a few gentle kisses to her shoulder and neck.

"Mm," she managed, "yes - the flower print on the _very white_ cotton! Not the blouse to be wearing when one is caught up in the rain."

"Oh, I disagree, love," he whispered, his hand now roaming the expanse of her back as his lips continued their exploration of her neck. "You presented quite the attractive image when I opened the back door to the courtyard and you all but tumbled into my arms, that lovely cotton clinging to _every curve …"_

His voice trailed off as she moved swiftly and captured his lips with hers in a loving kiss that became even more passionate as the moments went by.

When she broke away she added, "Yes, and it was almost my undoing. I should have stayed in with the grumbly, handsome butler; instead, though, I ran and hid in the village, only to have to run back through the storm and end up with my hands on that butler's chest and his arm about my waist! Rather counterproductive, that was."

"Well," he answered, pulling her atop his body as he spoke, "I don't remember that he complained one bit."

"No," said softly, biting the edge of her lip as she smiled lovingly at him, "he didn't. He didn't speak at all as I recall."

Just then a loud clap of thunder sounded, and the rain pelted the window even harder than before.

Elsie looked up at her husband, the darkness in his eyes sending the familiar rush of warmth down through her body. She reached out and cupped his cheek, then leaned forward for a soft kiss.

"As much fun as that was for you, Charlie, I think I'd rather spend a rainstorm like this." She allowed her hands to roam his body, smiling at the gasp that her touch produced.

"You're a wicked woman, Elsie Carson," he gasped, grabbing hold of her hips as she settled herself on top of him. "And I love you for it."

They made love slowly and gently that morning, the soft cocoon of their bedroom a sharp, comforting contrast to the maelstrom that was coming down all around them.

Some time after, Elsie rested back on the pillows, drawing her husband's head to her bosom as he softly slumbered. She smiled as she realized how very blessed they were, indeed. She and Charlie had certainly been through an entire series of storms throughout their years together - both the literal ones and the figurative. Each storm had only served to make them stronger, she knew, making the times they shared all the more precious. They were truly blessed, indeed, having mornings like this: days when they could shut themselves away from the rush of the world and delight in the sounds of soft breaths, loving whispers ... and the beating of their hearts amidst the falling of the rain.


	8. Whiskers

**A/N: A small (for me) snippet to fulfill the Chelsie-Prompts challenge on tumblr, entitled "Whiskers." In my mind, it exists in the same universe as "Caught" and "Shift" (both stand-alones) and "Raining," which was the previous chapter here. Unbeta'd, so please pardon any errors.**

 **Please leave a little note of review if you feel so inclined! :) xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ***M* warning - not _intensely_ M, but enough to warrant the rating. ;)**

* * *

Elsie rolled over, tucking her face away by the side of her pillow as she tried to snatch the remaining vestiges of the wonderful dream she'd been having. Images flitted through her mind of her husband's warm presence behind her as he whispered into her ear; she could almost _feel_ the ghost of his hand roaming her body, caressing her hip through the thin cotton of her summer nightdress; the feel of his lips as they-

"Charles!" she exclaimed, suddenly wide awake.

"Mm? Morning, love," he murmured in her ear, his very real hand continuing to caress her as it slipped a bit lower - down to the hem of her nightgown - and slowly started sliding underneath the fabric.

"Good morning," she replied with a smile, relaxing once again against his body which was, indeed, firmly pressed behind her.

 _Oh. Oh, my …_

"Charles," she warned quietly, pressing her head further into her pillow and thereby exposing more of her neck, "we need to be up soon."

He ignored her - _I_ _gnored her!_ She couldn't believe it! - as his lips and fingers continued to roam.

Elsie knew the long day ahead was set to be a trying one; one of her maids was off visiting a sick aunt, and Lady Grantham was expecting guests from the hospital board in the afternoon. But the joys of marriage outweighed Elsie's obligations to her job occasionally, and this morning just happened to be one of those occasions. She sighed happily and gave in quickly to her husband's desires. _Who ever wants to get out of bed, really?_

Charles shifted, rising up a bit on his arm to enable him to spread his kisses around to her collarbone; his morning stubble scratched her shoulder, and she flinched.

"Sorry," he mumbled, moving up to her earlobe.

"No, you're not," she laughed, stretching her body a bit and feeling the full effect that it had on him. "My, my, someone _is_ awake."

"I wasn't sure if _you_ were, although I was trying valiantly," Charles rumbled, his hand now completely trapped underneath the nightgown as it slid across the front of her belly and moved down from there.

"I thought I was dreaming, but this is _infinitely_ better," she purred.

"I find I'm rather fond of waking up with you in my arms instead of having to imagine you down the corridor in another room," he said, his voice thick with desire.

Elsie had to agree.

As his wandering hand finally did, indeed, reach its destination, she sighed with pleasure and gave up on worrying that they'd be late for work. Unable to roll over onto her back because he was _right there,_ she instead moved forward a bit, reading her husband's mind as he lifted her top leg and, having found her more than ready for him only moments before, slipped inside.

Their movements were sure now, quite well-practiced after four months of marriage, and Charles reveled in the feel of her in his arms, of how he was able to completely envelop her body with his as she, in a much _different_ way, wrapped him up inside of her.

* * *

The walk to the Abbey was necessarily a swift one, and Elsie smiled brightly as her husband tucked her hand into his own as soon as he'd locked the door to their cottage.

"If we hurry, and if we're lucky, we _might_ make it to the staff breakfast on time," he chuckled.

"Mr. Carson, I never thought I'd see the day when you would be laughing about possibly not arriving to work on time."

She was shocked when he stopped suddenly and tugged on her hand, pulling her backwards and turning her before his lips came crashing down upon hers.

"I find, _Mrs. Carson,_ that I seem to have found a much _better_ way to occupy my mornings than arriving early at the table."

"Well," she said, backing up and running her thumb across the bottom of his lip, "I find that I have to agree. And you missed a spot," she giggled.

"I- What?" His hand flew to his lip, and a look of horror fell across his features as he instantly felt what she was referring to. "But-"

"But nothing," Elsie said, firmly grasping his arm and pulling him back onto the path. "No one else will ever notice, Charlie - they're usually half asleep anyhow. Mr. Barrow and Anna were the only ones ever alert this early, and with him gone and her exhausted all the time, you have nothing to worry about. No, we'll eat, and then you can nip up to the servants' quarters and take care of it with the kit you keep at the Abbey."

He calmed quickly, finding reason in her words. "You're right, it's nothing," he said. "And I'm sorry I didn't shave earlier," he added guiltily.

"Don't be," she said, smiling. "I kind of like you being all scruffy in the morning." She leaned into his arm with hers, nudging him playfully. "It's part of the very unbuttoned butler - the man that only _I_ ever get to see."

"Indeed," he replied with a smirk.

* * *

Breakfast went smoothly, and Charles headed upstairs and took care of the rogue whiskers. Returning down to the servants' corridor, he headed into his wife's office, finding her rubbing absentmindedly at her shoulder.

"All taken care of?" she asked, not bothering to turn at the sound of his footsteps. She was intent on reviewing the list on her desk and didn't notice that he had closed the door behind him before approaching her.

"Perhaps you can tell me if I did a thorough job this time?" he teased, laying his hands on her shoulders and nudging her head to the side before kissing her behind the ear, down her neck, and across the small amount of skin exposed by the neckline of her dress.

"Mm, quite smooth," she whispered. "Oh … right there," she added, indicating where his thumb rested on the back of her shoulder. "Scratch that, please."

"Here?"

"Yes," she sighed, relieved. "It's a little irritated, but that's much better now."

"I thought you said you liked it?" he said, somewhat worried.

Elsie smiled fondly at him as she turned and reached up to tap her finger on his lips. "Oh, but I _do._ It's a constant reminder throughout my day of what might await me at home," she teased, rising from her chair and placing a kiss to the spot she'd just tapped with her finger. "And _you,_ if you're lucky."

And, with that, she reached around him and gathered up the list, and Charles watched his wife as she set out to deliver it to Mrs. Patmore … with an extra sway of the hips that Charles _knew_ was just for him.

 _She may like the unbuttoned butler,_ he mused as he followed her, _but the playful housekeeper is just as much fun._


	9. After the Fall Supplement: Remontant

**A/N: I hope you enjoy this take on the chelsie-prompt from tumblr, which takes you on a trek back to my "After the Fall" modern AU world. I really need a nice _break_ from that story, and had all intentions of _taking_ one, but I couldn't pass this up. I'm a ****linguist, after all, and the French origin of the prompt word kind of slapped me and said, "Do this." (So did Hogwarts Duo, in her own sweet way, and I do thank her for that.) If you've not read "After the Fall," it may not make a ton of sense, but hopefully you enjoy it anyhow. :) And I know it's set in the future, but time-wise (in that world) this occurs a couple of years prior to the AtF epilogue.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **The chelsie-prompt:**_

 **remontant** _adj_ blooming more than once in a season

 _ **The word origin:**_

 **remonter** _vi_ monter à nouveau (English translation: to go back up; to climb back up)

* * *

 ** _January 22, 2018 - Misty Cove, Maine_**

It was the first sunny day they'd had in a week, and a week's worth of off-and-on snowfall had finally ended last night. Both adults _and_ all three children had a bad case of cabin fever, having only escaped the confines of their home in order to shovel, plow, and run back inside for hot tea and cocoa. It made today all the sweeter, though, for when the phone call had come in inviting them to stop by the farm for Juliet's birthday gift and a long-overdue visit, Elsie jumped at the chance without even running it by her husband.

And she needn't have worried, as she well knew. She felt him sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around her waist before resting his chin atop her head.

"Please, _please_ tell me that phone call means that we're getting the hell _out_ of this house today," he said, and Elsie tilted her head to the side to look up at him, placing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

"As it so happens, we are," she confirmed. "Anna's asked us to come by after our little party here. She said she knew we wanted to celebrate with just the five of us, but she made no secret about the fact that she was concerned about your safety, seeing as how you've been forcibly shut up in this house with _me_ all week."

"You did quite well," he praised, smirking. "For someone who has had her share of being cooped up in the past, and someone who can't stand not being able to get some fresh, unsnowy air regularly, I'm mightily impressed."

"Well," she said, turning in his arms. "My patience is just about gone, and the farm is plowed and shoveled out. The new horse arrived two weeks ago and has acclimated nicely, and Anna wants Daisy to try her out."

"Peaches," he grumbled. "Foolish name, really."

"Oh, hush," she chided, snaking her arms up his chest and clasping her fingers behind his neck. "Now kiss me before our kids find us, Charlie."

"Yes, ma'am."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

After a small luncheon comprised primarily of two of Juliet's new favorite foods – meatballs and carrots – the family of five piled into heavy coats, hats, boots, and gloves and climbed into the car to make the short trek to the farm.

When they arrived, Elsie was pleased to see how well the paddock had been cleared as well as the neat appearance of the driveway, the parking in front of the barn, and the pathways.

"Everything up to snuff?" Charles muttered as he reached for her hand. He gave her fingers a little squeeze, and she smiled and nodded minutely. It was still hard for her sometimes, he knew – the farm was Elsie's but it wasn't her _home_ anymore, and she was placing an enormous amount of trust in Anna and John to keep both the property and the business up to her standards. So far, though, all was going according to everyone's expectations.

Tommy got out of the car and turned to unbuckle Juliet from her car seat; she put her arms out for him to take her, and he complied.

"Do you want to take her?" he asked Daisy, who was watching them, but she shook her head.

"No, it's alright," she said softly. "Go ahead."

Charles nodded at them and Tommy carried Juliet off to the barn, where they both knew Anna was waiting.

"Happy Birthday," John said to Juliet as he passed by them on his way over to the car. He leaned over and kissed her nose, making her giggle, and she placed a wet kiss to his cheek in return while Tommy laughed at them. John chuckled softly and made his way to Elsie, needing to discuss a few supply-ordering details with her.

"Daisy?"

Daisy looked up to see her father looking at her peculiarly.

"What?"

He looked at Tommy's retreating form and then back at Daisy. "Nothing, I suppose," he muttered. "Don't mind me."

"I don't mind that Juliet loves Tommy so much, Papa," she answered bluntly. "Really. It's not like she doesn't love me. But she can be … well …" She trailed off, not wanting to get in trouble.

"She irritates you sometimes," he smirked. "Because she's active and talking now and running all over the place."

Daisy nodded. "And she has tantrums," she added, wrinkling up her nose.

Charles couldn't help but think that Daisy was entering her teenage years and that _she'd_ likely be having a few tantrums of her own soon, but he kept that tidbit to himself.

"She does," he agreed, squeezing her shoulder. "But I just wanted to be sure."

"Tommy loves taking care of her, and he still spends time with me, too. It's alright – really."

Elsie joined them then, her brief chat with John having ended. "What's all this? Plotting away?"

"Just checking in," Charles said, winking at Daisy. "Off you go, then, petal. We'll be there shortly."

Daisy smiled and bounded off toward the barn, where Anna was readying Scarlett for a short ride.

"We aren't riding Peaches?" she asked, but Anna shook her head.

"No, we're not. I thought maybe we'd take a stab at your plan instead." She smiled at Daisy, whose own smile lit up the barn.

"Brilliant," she whispered, and Tommy turned to see what had her so excited.

Anna swore him to secrecy, and then promptly explained.

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

"They look amazing, don't they?"

Elsie looked next to her where Charles was standing, and she nodded at him.

"They do."

She stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and tucked herself under Charles's arm. Together, they watched their youngest daughter sitting very still directly in front of Anna, and they listened as Anna explained that Juliet was to hold on to the saddle while John brought them around the paddock on a lead.

Once they started, the only sounds they heard for a moment were the crunching of the snow under Scarlett's feet and an occasional giggle from Juliet. Daisy joined them by the fence while Tommy stayed in the shelter of the barn, snapping photos of the riders with the camera he'd received for Christmas.

"She's doing great!" Daisy said happily. "She's just so comfortable up there. Of course, Anna is a good teacher." She paused, and looked out of the corner of her eye to see the loving, happy expression on her Mam's face. Elsie didn't look nervous at all, which thrilled Daisy completely. "Of course, growing up in this family, she'll be a good rider anyhow," Daisy added for effect.

"And Scarlett's such a good girl," Elsie said fondly … and, just at that moment, something clicked in her mind.

 _She's_ _ **my**_ _good girl,_ Elsie thought suddenly. _And I've ignored her so because I can't get beyond my own mind._

Charles felt her stiffen underneath his arm and turned to her quickly. He was worried, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. Therapy had brought her far but, every once in a while, Elsie slipped back a bit, her fear creeping in sometimes as her mind forced her to relive one more time how she'd been thrown from Star.

"Els?"

But when she turned to face him, when he looked into her eyes, he just _knew._

"Elsie?"

"Hm?"

"Are you absolutely sure?" he whispered.

"Oh, Charlie," she whispered back, tearfully, "I've not been this sure of anything in a _long_ time. It should be _me_ up there. I want to try, anyhow. No promises, but … Charlie, just look at them. What have I been so afraid of? Scarlett was my _first_ baby, you know."

He looked over her head and saw Daisy giving Anna a thumbs-up sign, and the young woman smiling and nodding in return.

"Daisy?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

But she shook her head and turned to head into the barn, her mind already set on finding Elsie's helmet amongst those that always hung on the barn wall.

John led Scarlett, Anna, and Juliet back to the fence and Charles reached his hands out, taking Juliet off of Anna.

"Is she really going to do it?" John asked, and Charles nodded.

"She is. Did you all cook this up?"

Anna smiled at him. "You ask your daughter about that. It was all her idea."

"I wondered. I bet she's been working on this for a while, now that I think back on the last couple of months."

Anna giggled. "Yup."

He made his way to the barn, where Elsie was already in her helmet. He chuckled as Scarlett kept nudging Elsie with her very cold snout, until Elsie turned and gave her girl a hug.

"You've been waiting for me, I know," she said to the horse, speaking softly enough that only Charles could hear. "I told you I'd be back for more than just a visit someday. Just go easy on me, alright?"

Scarlett whinnied and then took two steps back toward the barn door, as if to say, _I **have** been waiting_ _, my friend, so let's go!_

"John?"

"Ready, Elsie. Slow and steady; get your sea legs back."

She took a deep breath and nodded, pulling on her gloves as she followed John and Scarlett to the barn doorway. When they stopped, she put her toe in the stirrup and pulled herself into the saddle, feeling as though it had been three days since she'd last done that, and not almost three _years._

Scarlett stood tall and proud, and Elsie leaned forward to stroke her mane before grasping the reins. She was frightened, and she was nervous about spooking the horse; however, Scarlett was used to sensing that from the horse therapy children, and she remained calm. John took the lead, clipped it to Scarlett's bridle once again, and led them out of the barn and into the paddock.

"Mam!" came Juliet's squeal from the fence, and Elsie smiled at her baby girl. She wasn't willing to relinquish her hold on the reins, though, and she saw Charles lean forward to explain to Juliet what was happening.

Halfway around the paddock, Elsie relaxed a bit. She felt herself sit more comfortably in the saddle, as she always had, and she loosened her grip on the reins.

"All set up there?" John asked, and she nodded.

"Perfect, thank you."

And, she was pleased to admit, she _was._ She felt freed, renewed, knowing she'd conquered one of the worst fears she'd ever had in her life. Elsie knew that her life _before_ her fall had been full of swift decision making and a routine to each and every day. Life _after_ the fall, however, had been so very different. She and Charles had to be more contemplative when making major decisions, as they affected an entire family. There had been real fear, such as a few tricky times during her pregnancy and the circumstances surrounding Juliet's birth - and the very vivid fear of not being able to ride horseback ever again, an activity Elsie had enjoyed since she was girl not much older than Juliet. And with three children, life was certainly never _routine_. But they'd dealt with all of those things together, and suddenly it was crystal clear to Elsie why she'd struggled so much with being back up in the saddle:

 _You've been trying to do it alone, and – for some things – you just need to rely on your family._

She leaned forward and hugged Scarlett tightly around her neck, then dismounted, and she was rewarded with yet another gentle whinny and a nuzzle. Elsie reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a treat for Scarlett – a peppermint, which was one of her girl's favorite rewards.

"Thank you, my dear friend," she said tearfully. She turned to find Daisy by her side, and she leaned over and wrapped her girl in her arms.

"And thank _you,"_ she whispered. "I know exactly what you did, and I love you for it."

"You're welcome, Mam," Daisy replied, squeezing her tightly. "You just needed to see Juliet do it, and I _knew_ you'd get back on."

"You're quite the little plotter yourself, aren't you?" Elsie said with a wink.

"Well, Papa says I'm learning from the best," Daisy deadpanned.

Elsie's laughter startled Scarlett a bit, who lifted her head quickly and looked out into the barn, just to be sure that her family was alright.

"That you are," Elsie laughed. "That you are."


	10. After the Fall Supplement: Flying HOME

**A/N: So, blame Hogwarts Duo/chelsie-carson for this.**

 **And if you haven't read "After the Fall," this won't make much sense. This dovetails in and out of Chapters 26, 27, and 28.**

 **All the love, folks. This is a bit angsty, perhaps, but it gets better in the end.**

 **CSotA**

* * *

Isobel made it back to Charles's place in under fifteen minutes and kept the car running while he went in to pack a bag.

The phone rang as he was walking through the door, and Charles snatched it out of his pocket, checking the caller ID as he slammed the door behind him.

"Mary! Are you there yet?"

"I'm on my way, Uncle Charlie. Five minutes out. Frankly, I'm shocked Daisy called _me;_ I'd have expected her to have called Edith."

"Not me," he said abruptly, putting the phone on speaker so he could pack his carry-on. "I'm with Isobel now. When I hang up with you, I'm calling the airline and heading out."

"Excellent. You aren't by any chance Elsie's health care proxy, are you? They'll ask."

"No, but I told the paramedics that it's likely Beryl Patmore."

"Got it. See you soon, Uncle Charlie. Be safe."

"You too. And, Mary? Thank you."

"You bet."

He grabbed his Rolodex, flipping for the airline's number and punching it in.

"I need a flight to Boston, please. It's an emergency – a family emergency."

The woman on the other end was very kind, and quickly had something sorted.

"We have two seats in Economy if you can be here in an hour, Sir."

"I'll be there in half that. Thank you so much."

"Our pleasure, Sir."

He hung up, grabbed his charger, and tossed both it and his phone into his bag. He added a smaller bag with a change of clothing, and by the time he had his jacket and passport in hand, Isobel was beeping the horn to hurry him up.

Charles locked up the flat and took the stairs two at a time. He jumped into Isobel's car and placed a quick kiss of thanks to her cheek.

"Two tickets, one hour. I can't thank you enough, Isobel. Truly."

"Call them now, Charles. The reception at the airport is awful."

Charles looked up the number for the hospital and managed to get connected to a doctor in the ER.

"Dr. Ramirez. How may I help you?"

"My name is Charles Carson, Dr. Ramirez. I'm calling about a patient that was just brought in to you, an Elsie Hughes? I'm flying home from London but won't arrive for about ten hours. Is there any way you can give me an update on her condition? What are her injuries?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot divulge that information to you, Mr. Carson. Not without her consent or that of her proxy, or the doctor who's been assigned to her case."

"Can you at least tell me if she's … if she's stable?" His voice cracked on the last word, and the doctor felt a stab of pity for him.

"She's alive, Mr. Carson, and is fairly stable. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you at this time. Perhaps when you arrive we'll have more that I can share with you."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor. I'll see you in a few hours."

He hung up and looked over at Isobel.

"Well," he said, "here we go."

They spent the rest of the ride in silence, with Charles counting the seconds until he could be by Elsie's side, her hand in his.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Isobel had told him to sleep, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to manage much. He reclined his seat and closed his eyes, hands clasped across his abdomen. He'd remembered to bring his earbuds and so he plugged them in, finding some classical music station before loosening his seat belt just a bit and taking a few deep, steadying breaths.

All he could think of was the glorious week they'd just spent together at Robert and Cora's place. Charles had felt as though he had the entire world in the palm of his hand. He was tying up loose ends, closing the door on the Alice chapter of his life and moving on to a healthier, more loving life with Elsie. He had plans – _big_ plans – that began with that telephone discussion about them moving in together.

 _And Daisy._

He had no idea what to do about her. He had no idea what to _expect,_ no clue of what impact the entire experience was going to have on her. Charles just couldn't help but feel that Daisy was going to take the entire thing very, very hard. She just seemed to have been turning the corner, and now another tragedy was thrown before her. And she'd been amazing, calling the paramedics, _speaking_ to them and giving enough information to them for quick, possibly life-changing decisions to have been made on Elsie's behalf.

 _Who knows what that's going to do to her?_

It's why he's happy that Mary is the one going to be with her, and not Edith. Because Mary will push Daisy in ways Edith would not, and Daisy wouldn't have Marigold to hide behind.

The plane hit a spot of turbulence and Charles felt his pillow slip. He shifted in the seat, trying to move his six-foot-plus frame into the cramped space, grateful that he was at least on the aisle with Isobel next to him. He somehow managed to doze off about an hour later.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

It was the smell of coffee that woke him, just before the voice of the flight attendant three rows up as he offered breakfast to the passengers. Charles rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch before reaching into his carry-on, pulling the smaller bag out, and heading to the rear men's room.

The light in the lav was shocking, and he groaned at the dark circles greeting him in the mirror. He managed to shave and wash up a bit, and brush his teeth. One change of shirt and sweater, and a comb through his hair, and he silently declared himself the best he was going to get under current circumstances.

Upon exiting the restroom, Charles discovered that he'd missed the beverage service, but once he arrived at his seat he saw two steaming cups of coffee and a breakfast tray.

"I took the liberty of ordering for you," Isobel said with a kind smile. "I thought the coffee would be best."

"Thank you," he said, relieved, and he sat and buckled in for the remainder of the flight.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Miraculously, Isobel's was the second suitcase off the plane. With that spot of good luck, they had a bit of time for a halfway-decent cup of coffee and tea before boarding the plane that took them on the last leg from Boston to Portland.

As soon as they landed in Maine and exited the baggage claim, Isobel had rental car keys in hand.

"Just tell me where we're headed," she said, and Charles nodded, managing to get them on the Interstate and to the correct exit.

Any moments not spent navigating were spent silently, the both of them too exhausted for anything more and knowing full well they'd need their energy once they arrived at the hospital.

"I'll stay there, if they let me," Charles said suddenly.

"I'm sure they will. If Elsie's awake, she can insist." She laughed. "Frankly, I'd like to see anyone challenge her."

But fear had crept into his mind. He knew it was likely his exhaustion interfering with his sense of reason, but he couldn't help it. "What if she doesn't?"

"Sorry? What if she doesn't … _what?"_

"Want me there," he whispered, looking out the window. "We're not … I mean …"

"You _are,"_ Isobel said softly. "In all the ways that matter, you are."

She reached over and patted his knee, and he smiled as he wiped a stray tear from his eye.

"We'll see," he managed.

"You have nothing to worry about," Isobel insisted. "Did you see the way that woman looked at you all of last week? She's passionately in love with you. I have no doubt that there's _no one_ else she'd rather have by her side."

"Thank you for that."

She pulled in at the hospital and Charles was out almost before the car was in park. He rushed in and spoke to the triage staff, who directed him to the waiting room.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Hours later, Charles woke with Elsie's hand clasped tightly in his own.

"Good morning," she murmured, smiling at him. "I can't move, so come here and kiss me, love."

He readily complied, wincing at the pain in his shoulder from having slept in the chair by the bed.

"Good morning, Elsie. You scared the hell out of me," he reminded her.

"I know. Daisy, too. I'm so sorry, Charlie. I was so _foolish."_

"Hush. It could have happened to anyone, Elsie."

"But I almost put _Daisy_ on him, Charles!" she cried. "Oh, my God, if it had been her … if Star …" She couldn't even finish the thought.

"None of that," Charles admonished, reaching to brush a few strands of hair from her face. He cupped her cheek and leaned over for another kiss. It was slow and soft, and he poured all of his love into those simple gestures. "She's fine, and the doctor says that, in time, you'll be good as new. And I'll be there every step of the way."

"You'll tire of me," she told him. "I'm a horrible patient."

"I will not. I'm nothing if not reasonable and calm."

"Ha!"

"Well," he amended quickly, "I can be if I'm caring for someone else. How's that?"

She smiled softly at him. "It's good enough for me, if you mean it."

"I do. I'm moving my things in this afternoon, if that's alright."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

"Well, we did discuss it. So this is just a few days earlier than planned …"

She reached out and snatched his hand again, tugging him down toward her for a deep kiss.

"I love you, Charles Carson. And I'm so blessed to have you in my life."

"I love you too, Elsie Hughes. And we'll see how blessed you feel a week from now," he replied with a wink.

She laughed, the first genuinely happy sound she'd made since arriving at the hospital.

"Alright."

* * *

 **I hope you enjoyed it. A little review would make my day! :)**


	11. AtF Supplement: A Sister's Love

**A/N: For my amazing friend meetmeinstlouie (belovedrival on tumblr), to celebrate her birthday. When I asked if she had a request, she replied that she'd like an "After the Fall" supplement chapter starring Daisy and Juliet.**

 **After reading (and reviewing, if you're so inclined), please pop over to tumblr and wish her a Happy Birthday! She's deserving of all the good things … trust me.**

 **Best wishes for a beautiful day, my dear! {hugs}**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **August, 2019**_

"Come here, you," Daisy laughed, pulling Juliet by the armpits and dragging her through the waves. "No going too far; what did I tell you?"

Juliet laughed. "I'm not!" she squealed, shaking her head vehemently. "Papa _said_ I could go that far!"

"I don't believe _that_ for a second," Daisy told her. "What did he _really_ say?"

"The buoys!" Juliet shouted, pointing at one. "No going near the buoys!"

"Exactly. And where are we now?"

Juliet scrunched up her eyebrows and thought hard, but she wasn't sure what Daisy meant.

"In the ocean?" she muttered, and Daisy snorted a laugh.

"True," she admitted, now holding firmly to Juliet's hand as the girl moved her feet about under the water. "But we're too close to the buoys, so let's swim back."

"Let's race!" Juliet shouted.

"Alright," Daisy agreed, glancing up to be sure her Mam was still on the beach and watching them. Juliet was a really good swimmer, as was Daisy, but she wasn't at all comfortable with the idea of being totally responsible for her sister in the water - even if Juliet did still use her water wings.*

 _Not that Mam would allow us to be alone anyhow._

"Ready," Daisy said, teasing Juliet. "Seeeet," she said, much more slowly.

Juliet was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Go!" shouted Elsie from the beach, taking both girls by surprise. "Come on, then!"

Daisy took off rather slowly, preferring both to let Juliet win _and_ to be able to keep her eyes on her.

Juliet took off like a shot, paddling her hands furiously and letting the waves help her, just as her Papa had instructed. She held her breath and ducked under the water for a moment, kicking strongly, and reached the sand well before Daisy.

"I won!" she shouted, running up the beach as she wiped water off her face. "Mam! I won!"

Elsie leaned forward and extended her hands to her youngest. "Congratulations, little one."

Juliet allowed herself to be tugged up, and she wrapped her arms - and her very wet and sandy self - around her Mam.

"Thanks for that, Juliet" Elsie said, playfully brushing sand off of her arm as Daisy made her way over.

"Looks like _you_ got wet anyhow," Daisy smirked. "See? You should have just come in with us."

Elsie laughed. "I suppose you're right at that. Now, how about you two help me pick up? If we hurry, we can have dinner ready for when your Papa gets home."

"Tommy working late again?" Daisy began gathering some of their things, and Juliet helped by picking up her sand toys and putting them all in her bucket.

"Yes, he is. He loves it, though, and he's been a huge help to Beryl."

" _And_ she feeds him," Daisy laughed, and Elsie agreed.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Daisy asked a question that had been on her mind earlier. "Why is Papa helping so much with this memorial thing? He didn't even _know_ any of those people."

"True," Elsie replied slowly, folding the blanket. "Here, help me with this."

They shook the sand off and folded it with the ease of those who are on the beach every day.

"I think he just wants to give something back to the community," Elsie explained. "And we _do_ know the _families_ of many of those men and women who died. One of them is Ethel's brother-in-law. Did you know that?"

Daisy shook her head, silent.

"Anyhow, I think he was rather surprised to have been asked," she continued.

"Particularly by Mrs. Wigan," Daisy said, scrunching her nose in distaste. "No one even _likes_ her."

"That's not very kind, Daisy."

"It's true, though. _You_ don't even like her."

Elsie bit down on a retort as she put the blanket into the beach cart.

 _No, I most certainly don't._

Aloud, she said, "Well, he was asked, and he agreed. And he insisted that Aunt Mary also be a part of it, because she really needed something to do, so today is the first meeting that she's attending. I think he just wants to keep an eye on her."

"Yeah," Daisy said. "Uncle Evelyn said she's been going mad sitting at home with the baby all day. He said she even misses running the newspaper sometimes."

"I'm sure she does." Elsie finished packing away their things and Daisy pulled the cart while Elsie took Juliet's hand.

They crossed the beach to the house, and Elsie instructed Daisy to leave the beach cart by the deck so that everything could be hosed down later. Removing as much sand as they could from their feet, they headed in to change and to start dinner.

"Come on, you," Daisy said to her sister. "You need a little nap before Papa gets home."

Juliet, usually so adamant about _not_ taking a nap, didn't fight the idea today.

"Okay," she yawned. "Story?"

Daisy smiled softly and nodded. "You got it."

"Thank you, Daisy," Elsie said gratefully. "We just need to be sure we don't let her sleep too long, or she'll never go down tonight."

"No kidding," Daisy muttered. She remembered only too well how, last week, Mam had let Juliet sleep too long … and how her Juliet had kept Daisy up half the night by running into her room every half hour, wide awake.

"What was that, Daisy?"

Daisy smiled sweetly at her Mam. "You're welcome."

 **oOoOoOoOoOo**

Daisy helped Juliet change out of her wet suit and wash up a bit before putting her in a dry outfit.

"Good job!" she praised the young girl - turning four in a few short months - for managing the snaps on her shirt.

"I'm a big girl," Juliet managed through a yawn. "I'm tired, Daisy. Can you tell me the story?"

"Let's see," Daisy said, watching Juliet climb onto her bed and then sitting on the floor beside it.

Juliet dropped her hand down and Daisy took it in her own, allowing Juliet to swing them slightly as she spoke. "You must want the story with the dragon, right?"

Juliet giggled. "No, silly! You know!"

"Hmmm." Daisy stuck the tip of her tongue out and furrowed her brow, feigning the need to think _very_ hard. "Oh! I know. You want the story of the day Mam rode Scarlett on your birthday!"

"No!" Juliet was now squealing with delight, her giggles interrupted once by yet another yawn. "Timmy!"

"Ohhhhh, _that_ story," Daisy teased her, reaching up and tickling Juliet's belly until she erupted in peals of laughter. "I didn't know you wanted _that_ one."

"Silly! You _did!"_

"Well, maybe," Daisy allowed with a wink. "Alright, let's see if I remember it."

"You do," Juliet nodded, now struggling a bit to keep her eyes open. She settled back on her pillow and added, "It's your favorite."

"Yeah, it is," Daisy said quietly. "Yours, too."

Juliet nodded again.

"Okay, here we go. Once upon a time …"

As she got lost in the story once again, a story of a young puppy named Timmy who could _never_ manage to stay out of trouble, Daisy watched as her little sister fell asleep. She told of Timmy's tumble in the muddy river and having to be pulled out by the scruff of his neck, of his uncanny way of escaping from his fenced-in garden, and of his favorite Christmas Eve ever, when he'd been allowed to curl up with his little girl in front of the fire and wait for Father Christmas to arrive.

Daisy felt Juliet's grip loosen, but past experience had taught her not to let the girl's hand go until a few minutes after; she knew that if she timed that too quickly, Juliet would only wake up once again.

" … and they lived happily ever after."

Juliet was now fast asleep, and Daisy slipped her hand free and stood, managing not to make a sound as she tiptoed out of Juliet's room. But as she turned out of the doorway she almost collided with Elsie, who had run upstairs to drop some laundry into the washer.

"Oh!"

"Shh," Daisy advised. "She's out, and she's positively _exhausted."_

"Yes, I heard you finishing the story," Elsie smiled, reaching out to smooth Daisy's hair. "She loves that one, you know. Does she know it's all true?"

"Yeah, she does." Daisy smiled wistfully, and then asked, "You don't mind, do you? That it's _her_ favorite story, too?"

"No," Elsie said, her voice soothing Daisy. "Of course I don't mind. It's a lovely story, and in a way it's _your_ story. Your Mum should always be a part of your life, Daisy."

"But Juliet never knew her."

"I know. But I bet she feels like she _does_ know her. And your telling of your Mum's story will keep her spirit alive in your heart."

Daisy smiled, feeling a bit happier now. "You're right."

"Ha!" Elsie laughed, slinging her arm around Daisy's shoulder as they made their way back downstairs. "I'm writing this moment down so that I can remind you of it later."

"I really love her so much."

"Your Mum? Of course you do, sweetheart."

"No," Daisy replied, shaking her head. "I mean, yes, of course … but Juliet. She's such a pain sometimes, and I know she often prefers to spend time with Tommy, but when it's just us, it's pretty special."

"Well, to be fair, you _both_ like to have your brother to yourselves," Elsie pointed out. "But there is something to be said for sisters. Even when they're young, women understand one another in a way that sometimes doesn't extend to men and boys. If you try, you and Juliet may very well end up the best of friends when you're grown."

"Like you and Auntie Becky?"

Elsie smiled and drew her eldest daughter into a hug. "Exactly," she whispered, dropping a kiss to Daisy's forehead. "Now, come and help me before Papa gets home, alright?"

Daisy smiled. "Sure. What do you need me to do?"

"I was thinking," Elsie said with a fond smile, "that I'd have you make the pie."

Daisy giggled. "Sounds good. And if an oven mitt happens to go sailing in your direction, just ignore it."

"We'll see about that," Elsie replied, laughing at the memory. "Oh, that _was_ a good day."

"Yeah," Daisy sighed happily. "It really _was."_

 _*No idea what those are called outside of the US - they're the inflatable arm bands that kids wear around their biceps when learning to swim._


	12. Speechless

**A/N: Hello there. *waves* Coming off of my brief hiatus to post this, my answer to the recent chelsie-prompts challenge, entitled "Speechless." (I know, I know ... I've not really even left yet and here I am, back already!)**

 **This is a chapter of an upcoming Modern AU Chelsie-centric fic, the writing of which is the reason for the aforementioned hiatus. The premise of the story is that all of our favorite characters are in modern-day Hollywood, working on a film for the studio owned by Robert Crawley.**

 **My thanks to Chelsie fan, who is beta-reading the entire new story as I write it, and also to Hogwarts Duo, who read _this_ chapter without the context of the whole story and assuring me that it makes sense.**

 **Until we meet again!**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

"Oh, my God," Elsie murmured as she looked out the car's window, and she heard Sybil laugh beside her.

"You shouldn't be surprised! It's just like all of Mum's bashes," the young woman giggled. She leaned forward and slid open the divider separating them from the limo's driver.

"Come on, Tom, can't you park properly? What kind of chauffeur are you, anyhow?" she teased.

"Tall, not too dark, and handsome," he replied instantly, giving Elsie the impression they'd had this conversation before. It warmed her heart knowing that they seemed to have found happiness with one another; she knew it was still early days for Sybil and Tom, but Elsie remembered that first flush of young love only too well.

 _I hope it works out better for_ _ **them,**_ she thought grimly.

Tom pulled into the next available spot in front of the Crawleys' sprawling Los Angeles estate, and as he stepped out of the limo, he tossed his chauffeur's cap onto the front seat and turned the car over to the valet.

"She's all yours," he said, and the valet nodded as Tom held his arm out to Sybil. "Tonight, I get to play the guest instead of hanging out with you lot."

The valet tipped his hat. "Enjoy, Tom! Have one for us, will ya?"

"Sure thing - maybe I'll even manage _two."_

"Cheeky," Sybil told him. She reached up to fluff his hair a bit and then took his hand; turning to her left, she noticed Elsie staring out over the grounds. "Elsie? Are you all right?"

"Hm?" Elsie turned around to find Sybil looking at her peculiarly. "Oh - yes, dear, I'm fine. Shall we?"

The sound of Elsie's sandals clicked on the gravel walkway as they made their way to the front door. The immaculately manicured lawn and the small pond and fountain were a perfect backdrop to the stunning flowers pouring out of the decorative urns that lined the paths. Fragrances from hydrangea, lily, and peony mingled together in a pleasing way; the evening was warm, but not overly so, and a soft breeze blew at the wisps of hair that Elsie had left down from her up-do. At first, she'd been afraid she'd overdone her outfit. But then she'd seen Sybil, whose hair was also up and studded with rhinestones that matched her sparkly shoes.

Elsie looked down at her own choice of attire: her soft, cream-colored palazzo pants, out from which peeked her open-toed sandals; her favorite jade green silk blouse with a faint paisley print - elegant, but not glitzy. She reached up to finger her emerald teardrop earrings, a favorite from her Uni days that, despite the sad memories attached to them, she couldn't seem to part with. The comb holding up her hair was ivory like the pants; all in all, she felt pretty good.

Cora had insisted that the party was to be a relatively small affair to welcome the new employees who had never worked on a film with Robert's company before, but one glance at the number of people currently occupying the vast grounds of the estate told her that "relatively small affair" was probably a gross understatement.

The place was _teeming_ with guests. Elsie and Sybil were some of the last to arrive, and Elsie spotted the entire Crawley family (save for Violet, whom she couldn't seem to locate), every member of the crew, staff, and their spouses, and all of the key actors in the production milling about. It made her wonder who was _inside,_ but she had her answer soon enough as a team of a dozen or more waitstaff - mixed women and men, clad in tuxedos - came out bearing trays of hors d'œuvres, which they began offering to the guests.

 _Of course,_ Elise thought; _the house **would** be full of staff! _ She could easily imagine that Cora's massive kitchen was being put to good use.

"The children are inside," Sybil said, as if reading Elsie's mind. "Mum hired some sitters and set up a sleepover for anyone who wanted to bring children and not drive home after the party. I believe she used the words 'tent party' when describing the downstairs family room."

"I've got to hand it to her," Elsie replied. "Your mother certainly knows how to make people feel welcomed, spoiled, and appreciated."

"That she does," Sybil said. "We're going to go around back, so that I can introduce Tom to Edith and a few of her friends. She's just texted and told me where to find them."

Elsie turned to face Tom. "You've not met Edith? How is that possible?"

"She's always working," Sybil said. "And so is Tom."

"I don't mind the working bit - especially for you, Elsie," he insisted, winking at Elsie before she could formulate some kind of unnecessary apology. "And when I'm not working, I'm with Sybil."

"I never see Edith anymore," Sybil pouted. "We get on so well, despite anything Mary would tell you, and I've missed her."

"Then go on, you two lovebirds," Elsie said, shooing them away with her hands. "I can manage here on my own."

Elsie smiled after them as they left, arms around each other's waists; just as she turned around, a waiter appeared by her side with a tray.

"Champagne, ma'am?"

Elsie lifted a glass off the tray. "Don't mind if I do. Thank you."

She meandered through the garden paths for a while, having no desire to go into the house if all of the adults were outside. Stopping here and there to chat with a few friends, she eventually found herself at the edge of the back patio, standing by the railing and overlooking the gorgeous view that Robert and Cora had of LA. They were far enough away from the main parts of the city that the lights were visible but didn't interfere with the glorious sunset that she was now witnessing.

After a while, Elsie felt as though the very energy around her suddenly changed; the back of her neck tingled, and she closed her eyes to the sunset and blinked slowly, rubbing her neck for a moment before she took a deep breath, and turned around.

Sure enough, Charles Carson had just arrived at the party - or perhaps he'd just found his way to this quieter part of the property - and, as Elsie had suspected, he was staring right at her from across the vast patio.

The breath she was holding escaped her in one swift _whoosh,_ and her heart rate sped up. She'd spotted him peeking at her table in the restaurant a few days ago, but other than a couple of words at work, she'd not interacted with him much at all over the past week. She couldn't manage to move or wave or - heaven forbid if he should approach her - even _speak,_ but it didn't matter anyhow.

After several _very_ long seconds of having their gazes locked on one another's eyes, he turned around, deposited his empty glass on a passing waiter's tray, and walked away, leaving her staring hopelessly at his quickly-retreating back.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

Charles tugged at the collar of his tuxedo. It felt tight even though he'd just had it tailored, and he made a mental note not to help himself to _quite_ as many sweets from the catering cart on the studio set.

Of course, he did acknowledge that his physical discomfort was more to do with the fact that he simply didn't want to be at this party. He wasn't terribly friendly with many people working on the project yet, given his recent appearance on the scene, and as he scanned the crowd he wished (despite her many faults and their own marital struggles) that Alice had been able to attend. She was so much more established in Hollywood than he was, simply due to the fact she'd been filming projects in the States for two years now; she was a master at mingling, meeting people, and keeping the flow of conversation positive no matter who the participants were.

But she wasn't there, and he felt a bit lost. He decided to walk around a bit and examine the property. He'd never been there at night, and only once during the day, and he was struck by the beauty of it all when it was decked out for a fête such as this. Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and giving him a brief nod of thanks, he tried to find Violet, figuring he'd at least be able to maintain a decent, interesting conversation with _her._ But it was to no avail.

 _Perhaps she stayed home,_ he thought. _She can't abide these types of events, either._

He smiled to himself as he recalled the conversation they'd had over tea last week. Her observations about a number of the people involved in the film - people who would be hard-pressed to believe that Violet Crawley even knew they _existed_ \- were remarkable, and he appreciated her candid input.

 _Except for her advice about Elsie:_ "Work _with_ her, Carson, and not against her."

 _What is that supposed to mean?_ he'd thought at the time, but now he understood. And it was a lot to ask; too much, he knew, for the first couple of weeks. He'd been blindsided completely by Elsie's presence at the table when he'd arrived for his first staff meeting; ever since then, he'd felt he was a bit on the back foot. Robert had been apologetic, of course, but it didn't really matter.

 _It was thirty years ago,_ Charles told himself as he swapped his empty glass for a full one, _and you are over sixty years old. You need to_ _ **let it go.**_

 _Easier said than done._

He meandered through the guests, nodding at a few whom he recognized, and eventually headed out to the quieter gardens out back that led to the patio. He sat and listened to the ensemble that was playing by the patio, lingering for a while as they played their way through a few of his favorite classical pieces. He stood up again after about fifteen minutes and headed toward the patio, thinking he'd like to take in the view of the sunset over the cit-

 _Oh._

His breath caught in his chest, and he was certain he'd felt an extra beat in there somewhere. He'd had that blasted dream the other night, the one that had been haunting him for the first time in decades, and as if she'd been conjured directly from it, he saw Elsie standing before him now.

But _she'd_ not seen _him_ yet; in fact, her back was to him, but he'd recognize her anywhere. Her size and confident stature were the same now as they'd been all those years ago: the curve of her neck and back, the flare of her hips. She'd clearly taken very good care of herself over the years, and he spared a thought for the husband she'd recently split with, wondering what it was that could ever make a man leave a woman like Elsie Hughes.

 _Well,_ he acknowledged wryly, _it's quite likely that_ _ **she**_ _left_ _ **him,**_ _isn't it?_

He watched as she put her glass down and leaned over the stone railing of the patio. The sun shifted; a cloud passed by, and suddenly the hair at her temple seemed almost aflame in the quickly-dying light.

Charles didn't know how long he stood staring at her - likely several minutes - but he knew the instant she'd felt his eyes upon her, saw her stiffen so minutely that she was quite possibly not even aware of it herself. Her hand came up to rub the back of her neck as she turned around.

Her eyes locked on his, and even though he couldn't see them, given the darkening night and his position far across the patio from where she stood, he could envision the precise shade of blue they were. They stood staring at one another for … well, he didn't know how long. It wasn't a challenge, but it wasn't comfortable. He thought for a second that it was more an assessment of one another, a sharing of a moment that no one else present would ever understand.

And she was _strikingly_ beautiful. His gaze flickered just slightly, so little that he knew she'd not have noticed it from where she stood, and his heart - which had been beating so rapidly up to that point - almost stopped in his chest.

 _The earrings._

Her deep, emerald-colored jade teardrop pendants, the ones he'd gifted to her on her twenty-first birthday, were sparkling in the little fairy lights that were wrapped around the railing upon which she'd just been leaning.

He was simply speechless; any plans he might have had of approaching her to say hello were immediately destroyed. There was no way he could speak to her now and pretend they didn't share a complicated, hurtful past, the proof of which was dangling from her ears.

He turned away from her, dropped his empty glass on some waiter's tray, and made his way back to the valet service. With any luck, his chauffeur would be close by, and he could make a clean getaway without having to run into Elsie again.

* * *

 **I'd love a review to hear what you think! This will eventually be partway in the main fic as a full chapter. xxx**


	13. The Rose

**A/N: Hello, friends. This chapter is a very, VERY overdue answer to the tumblr chelsie-prompt of "Flowers." When that blog tossed out the prompt, I wrote to Hogwarts Duo and suggested that we co-author a "Downton Abbey"/"Beauty and the Beast" crossover fic. It's taken months to do, but we have finally finished.**

 **DO NOT FOLLOW HERE in order to read the rest of that fic. None of the other chapters will be here. We're posting the main fic under Hogwarts Duo's account, but I realize not all of you follow her and I wanted everyone to have a chance to read it. We're pretty proud of it, and we'll both be posting chapters and replying to reviews from her account. I'm only posting here because the Prologue _was_ written by me, and because it is very much fitting for the "Flowers" prompt. :)**

 **So if you've not seen this yet, please do read on. And then, if you like it and want more, head to her page and give it a follow.**

 **Thanks to all of you for your continued support of my writing. There are days I feel like throwing in the towel, but there's nothing like a big project with a great friend to give me a new perspective. 3**

 **xxx,**  
 **CSotA**

* * *

Once upon a time, in the land known as Downton, there lived a benevolent king and his beautiful queen, beloved by all over whom they ruled.

The king and queen lived in a stately castle, far-removed from the village and farms. Its walls were mighty, constructed of pale yellow and brown stone. Elaborate windows shone from every side, with the peaks of every tower in perfect symmetry. The castle – named Downton Abbey – sat atop a rolling hill, with one lone road leading to the front gates and nothing but woodland surrounding the property.

Over a period of years, three beautiful daughters were born in the palace, but despite the king's hopes and prayers, he sired no sons; therefore, he decreed that upon his death, his entire kingdom would pass to his eldest daughter, the beautiful (and spoiled) Princess Mary. Knowing from a young age that she was destined to one day be queen, the princess learned early on the importance of her own happiness. Over the years, the servants of the castle came to dislike the princess, for the older she grew, the more entitled she became.

By the time the princess turned twelve years old, there remained only two servants in the household who ever had a good word to say about her. One was the new maid, Anna, who seemed to see a kindness in the princess that the others missed, and the other was Charles Carson, the butler.

Charles was the longest-serving member of the king's staff. His earliest days had been spent as a footman during the former king and queen's time, and he'd worked his way up to the position of butler by the time Princess Mary's father took the throne. Charles was well-regarded by the entire family, but it was the Princess Mary herself who'd stolen his heart, right from the moment she'd uttered her very first cry and the sound had traveled up from the nursery and sounded in the butler's attic rooms.

Over the years, Charles and the princess forged a sort of alliance: she turned to him with questions small and great about the inside workings of the castle (which, try as he might, he could not convince her to ignore, despite it being beneath her station to care about such things), and he defended her often callous and snide behavior to those under his command.

When Princess Mary was to come of age, a ball was planned for her sixteenth birthday. The queen outlined every precise detail of her vision for the ball to the housekeeper, a kindly older woman by the name of Mrs. Bute, but when the woman was called away to tend to her dying mother, the duty of planning the elaborate fête fell to none other than the butler himself.

Determined to make his favorite princess's birthday ball the greatest event Downton had ever seen, Charles became even more strict and demanding with the staff than before. It had been a bit of a shock to some of them, particularly the cook, who'd served the royal family for almost as long as the butler. She knew that while he'd always ruled the downstairs with an iron fist, there had been glimpses from time to time of a sort of kindness in his eyes. There had been rumors that he had lived a happy life prior to going into service; once, the housekeeper heard a whisper in town that he'd even been betrothed to be married.

Obviously, that had not come to fruition. Charles had indeed gone into service. As he moved ahead in his career, his softer side with the staff began to disappear completely, replaced by an icy formality that was not dissimilar to that of Princess Mary herself.

When the night of the ball finally arrived, the butler stood tall and firm by the castle's front doors, welcoming guests from neighboring kingdoms and cities as far away as London and announcing their arrival in the ballroom in his deep, booming baritone. He caught the princess's eye once and gave her the briefest nod, an acknowledgement between them of the importance of the ball itself … and of how each and every guest bowed and curtsied to _her_ and not just her parents –a true symbol of the future if ever there was one.

It was just as the last couple made it inside the ballroom that the winds suddenly picked up, coming in unexpectedly across the land. A harsh gale blew the doors open wide, causing them to slam against the walls and making the torchlight and candlelight flicker and burn out. A surprised, collective scream could be heard from inside the ballroom, but as Charles turned to see what was the matter, he was stopped in his tracks by what had appeared - seemingly from nowhere - in the doorway to the outside.

Standing in the frame of the large door was an old beggar woman. Her figure was hunched over, her gnarled fingers were wrapped around the head of an equally gnarled cane, and a hood was drawn over most of her face. Charles noted that, had she been standing straight, her head would have barely reached his shoulder … and he noted that an odor of something rather unclean was coming from her tattered robe.

"Please, sir," she said in a crackling, soft voice, "shelter for the evening? A storm is brewing, and I'm sure to perish before the sun rises unless I find a place to stay."

Barely able to hold in his disgust, Charles bellowed for her to leave before she soiled the entryway of the castle. But, just then, the woman shifted the long sleeve of her robe, and a rose appeared. Something about it was … odd. It tickled his mind, reminding him of days long since gone by, but he couldn't put his finger on _why,_ so distracted was he by her haggard appearance.

"There is no place for you here," he declared again. "This is not an inn."

"Do not be deceived by my ugly appearance, Carson," she advised in a quiet voice, "for beauty can also be found _within."_

The words were hauntingly familiar, but his mind latched onto something even more shocking and his eyes widened.

"How do you know my name?" he whispered.

But the beggar woman did not speak; she merely held the rose out to him, her meaning clear.

"A rose!" he bellowed. "You offer a _rose_ in payment for shelter in the most impressive castle in all the country?"

"Please," she asked again, and he barked out a harsh laugh.

"Be gone from here and never return," he ordered her, pointing the way down the path that would lead to the forest.

He turned his back to her, but when he touched the handle of the door, intending to close it on the woman, a blinding flash of light came from where she'd been standing. Thunder and lightning appeared from nowhere, and the harsh winds that had been blowing earlier picked up again most violently, blowing through the doors of the castle and throwing open those to the ballroom, frightening all of the guests … and the princess and her family as well.

Charles watched, transfixed, as the beggar woman's ugly appearance melted away: her filthy robe became a gown of purple silk, the hood disappeared to reveal a head of silver hair, and the gnarled cane turned to one of fine, polished wood, its pearl knob held in her hand.

"Your Highness," he whispered, and he fell to his knees to beg her forgiveness. "I apologize … I … I had no idea …" he stammered, but it was too late, for the woman whose face he was staring up into now was that of none other than the princesses' grandmother, the former queen … and, evidently, a powerful enchantress.

He did not see that the guests had also witnessed the woman's transformation; he did not notice that they were fleeing through the castle's side door and hastening to their carriages, with Princess Mary, her parents, and sisters following in their wake, intent on soothing everyone's fears and encouraging them to return to the party.

"You've changed, Carson," the enchantress said sadly. "You were always so steadfast and true, but kind-hearted. And not only to my eldest granddaughter."

He had no reply, and he hung his head in shame as he continued to kneel before her feet.

"You have been dutiful, yes, but it has been many years since you've been _loving,_ " the enchantress told him. There was no anger in her voice, merely statement of fact.

"Your Highness, I … I …" He stammered, then fell silent once more, for he could see the shameful truth in her eyes.

The enchantress took a step back, raising her cane and swirling it in the air above her head. The thunder, lightning, and wind came to a halt, replaced by a soft glow that cast about the entire castle and its grounds. It put Charles in mind of a thin veil that was cascading down over them all.

He watched, speechless, as the rose that had been clutched in her hand spun of its own accord before his eyes, landing in a glass dome conjured from thin air and settling on the cobbled stone before him.

Charles gasped as he felt a faint pain clench his heart. Worried he was suffering an attack, his hand reached up and grasped at his liveried chest, but the pain disappeared and he felt a coldness seeping throughout him in its wake.

"You used to wish you'd gone another way," the enchantress murmured, her voice soft and wistful. "Perhaps, one day, you still can."

"That way is closed to me now," he spat harshly, finally looking into her steely grey eyes, a challenge visible in his own. "You know this."

The rose glowed in the glass before him.

"It's time, Carson," the enchantress said.

"Time for what?"

"You must learn once again what it means to _love,_ " she said kindly. "And you must learn how to earn another's love in return. Until that happens, you'll remain here, unable to leave."

"And Princess Mary? The _family …_?" he enquired, aghast.

"Will not be able to return," the enchantress said, "unless you are successful."

Charles stood then, with some difficulty, and bent to pick up the rose. He handled it carefully, as if not only the dome but the rose itself were of the most fragile spun glass, able to crumble in his hands at the slightest tremble.

"The rose will continue to bloom for you as the years move on. But, like all things, it will eventually die. You have until the last petal falls at the close of your forty-fifth birthday to accomplish your task," she said.

"And if I am not successful?" he whispered.

"Then, Carson," she replied, "you'll remain here forever, a prisoner of your beastly, unloving heart."

"It is an _impossible_ task," he said, defeated.

She stepped off the terrace and then turned to look him in the eye, allowing only a moment to pass before turning in a bright flash of light and disappearing before his eyes.

Charles made his way into the castle, ignoring the soft footfalls of the staff as they peered out from behind draperies and staircases. They watched as he made his way to the attic in the West Wing, the butler's domain for as long as any of them could remember, far removed from the rest of the servants' quarters.

He entered his bedroom and set the rose atop the table by his window, and he gasped loudly as a small, silver hand mirror appeared by the rose's side. He lifted it gently, not sure what to make of it. But when he imagined the princess, wondering in a whispered breath where she was and if she were safe, the mirror showed her to him. She was riding atop her prized steed, heading steadily across the lands for what he instinctively knew would be her parents' smaller landholding closer to the city proper. He glimpsed the king's carriage further off in the distance.

He put the mirror down on the table, determined not to touch it ever again, and forced himself to change and get into bed.

But sleep would not come that night, nor for several nights after.

Despite the enchantress's warning, Charles felt his heart only grow colder as the days and months wore on. He was brusque with the staff, interacting with them only when absolutely necessary. He took to having his luncheon alone in his pantry more often than not, as the others seemed to be intimidated by his presence far enough at the evening meal in the servant's hall.

There was no celebration when he turned forty-one.

Or forty-four.

As he climbed the stairs toward his bedroom one evening, the need to focus on his steps great because of the amount of wine he'd consumed in his solitude, Charles began to feel all hope slipping away. His mind turned to happier times, times before he was even in service, and his eyes landed on the wall above his fireplace.

He reached out and pulled a dusty sheet aside to reveal an old portrait - of himself, in younger days, beside a young woman with dark hair.

The enchantress's voice whispered in the back of his mind: _"… beauty can be found_ _ **within**_ _…"_

Instead of saddening him, as it so often did, the portrait angered him tonight. He poured one last glass of wine and sat before the painting, staring at it and trying to remember when his life had all gone so horribly wrong.

The rose's light surged, and he caught the flash out the corner of his eye. The harsh reminder enraged him, and he hurled his wine glass at the portrait with a mighty roar escaping his mouth. The glass broke through part of the canvas itself, sticking in the fabric. When he rushed over to the fireplace and reached up to pull down on the stem, the painting ripped apart even more.

The rose glowed once again, and Carson tossed the remainder of the broken glass into the fire and slumped into a chair, completely defeated.

"It's hopeless," he whispered, and a tear fell down his cheek.

"Who could _ever_ learn to love _me?"_

* * *

 **To be continued as "The Cursed Butler," which you can find under Hogwarts Duo's fanfic account. Thanks for reading! xx**


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